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THE WOMAN TAMER 






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Wayne had scarcely time to shout a frantic “Watch out!’’ when 

Black fired. 






7 

THE 

WOMAN TAMER 

STANLEY §HAW 

AUTHOR OF “a SIREN OF THE SNOWS” 


FRONTISPIECE BY 

FRANK TENNEY JOHNSON y 


NEW YORK 

THE MACAULAY COMPANY 


7Z^ 

5s3fc<f 
' UJo 


Copyright, 1923, 

By the MACAULAY COMPANY 


OCT -9 1923 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©CU7e0274 ^ 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGB 

I The Brute Tamer . . . . 9 

II The Flapper . . . . ... 18 

ni A Proposition ........ 28 

IV A Message. 40 

V Hell’s Doorway . ... . . . 52 

VI Hampex ......... 60 

VII Black’s Trick . . . . . . . 73 

VIII Rouge Dubois. 82 

IX The Tables Turn . . . . . 95 

X The River ...... . . . 108 

XI The Rapids . . . .; .; . . . 120 

XII The Whip ..... > .; . . 134 

XIII On the Raft . . . v v . . 148 

XIV Frosty Blink . . . v . . . . 163 

XV Out of the Sky . . ,. . ..j .. . 177 

XVI High Stakes ..... . . 191 

XVII Whoso Speaks.. 205 

XVIII He Learned ABOUT Women . . . . 216 

XIX North Again.226 


V 



















VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

XX The Chovaed Tract . . ^ . 234 

XXI The Storm. 245 

XXII Against Time.259 

XXIII A Blind Trail.271 

XXIV The Thousandth Chance . . . .280 

XXV Nemesis.288 

XXVI Forever After . . . . . . . 297 








THE WOMAN TAMER 


I • . ' ' \ 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


CHAPTER I 

THE BRUTE TAMER 

Wayne Yeatman shifted his gaze out of the 
window to where the train conductor was escorting 
a young woman toward the car steps, carrying her 
luggage for her. 

She was dressed as if for an afternoon promenade 
on Fifth Avenue, had a wealth of flame-of-gold 
hair, the large, long-lashed, wide eyes of a child 
and undeniably attractive features, but there was no 
color in her skin; it was white as milk and her 
wrists and ankles were uncommonly slim. She 
looked as if a good jolt might send her into a faint. 

“Regular millionairess daughter, wrapped up 
pretty and highly perfumed,’^ thought Wayne. 
“What in hades can one of her sort be doing in 
this he-man’s country 

The young woman entered Wayne’s car and took 
""■a seat at the front end near the drinking water tank. 
The conductor carefully arranged the two suitcases 
in the rack for her, then tipped his hat, smiled, and 

9 


10 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


left the car. Plainly to be gathered from his actions 
that pretty young women of her sort were not often 
met with on his run. She produced a book, settled 
cozily into the seat and began to read. 

“Easy enough to catalogue this flapper,” thought 
Wayne. “One of the sort who gets anything she 
wants with a few sweet words and a baby-doll stare. 
That damn-fool conductor would let her walk on his 
neck.” 

Wayne Yeatman himself was tall, tanned and 
thirty; muscular, with a close curling head of dark 
hair. His rather solid face would have been classi¬ 
cally symmetrical but for a deeply wide and irregu¬ 
lar scare that extended across the cheek from his left 
eye almost to the angle of his jaw. It had been 
caused by the clawing stroke of an infuriated leopard. 
Many people thought the scar added to rather than 
detracted from his appearance, lent character to his 
features. 

Quiet, almost taciturn, spare in gesture, yet mov¬ 
ing with the quick, springy tread of an animal, his 
was the form and the sharply alert carriage of a 
ruggedly healthy outdoor man; his eyes slumber- 
ously brown when he was uninterested, abruptly 
changing to a deep red that seemed actually to glow 
like burning rubies when he was aroused. 

Hard and bitter in his views of life Yeatman was 


THE BRUTE TAMER 


II 


apt to be, but there wasn’t a mean streak in his 
make-up, and he was clean, way in to the soul of 
him; no possible price could have induced him to 
carry through himself, or aid another in a piece of 
underhand work, to sit in at any game he could not 
play absolutely fair, win or lose, to the finish. 

For the next hour Yeatman did not look again at 
the girl. She was not his sort, and he had small 
use for women anyway. To his mind the name 
female, in beast or human, invariably spelled trouble. 
A fine and motherly woman he had never known; 
those his life had so far brought him in contact with 
had been of a pretty drab sort. 

After a time, Yeatman’s attention was caught by 
the actions of a number of young Italians who had 
been seated at the other end of the car. Several of 
these men appeared to have suddenly developed a 
seemingly inordinate thirst for ice water, passing 
up and down the aisle in an almost endless proces¬ 
sion, each one hanging about the drinking water tank 
as long as he could find reasonable excuse for doing 
so, trying to catch the eyes of the girl seated nearby. 

One young Italian, dressed in a loud suit, winged 
collar and a white shirt with half inch wide stripes 
^of purple, bolder than the rest, finally mustered up 
courage enough to lean toward the girl and offer 
some remark. 


12 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Wayne could not hear what was said, but he saw 
her look up and answer in a pleasant, though some¬ 
what perfunctory manner, then drop her eyes to the 
book. He smiled cynically. 

Dropping into the seat beside her, the man spoke 
to the girl in Italian. Evidently she understood, for 
her face became quickly animated and she answered 
in the same language. They talked together for 
several moments. The girl was palpably interested 
but also, it was evident, a little bewildered, perhaps 
not sure yet how best to handle the situation. 

Wayne Yeatman^s actual experience in the upper 
strata of society had been decidedly limited; yet 
he had read a lot and he thought he knew how a well 
bred woman would have met the experience through 
which this girl a few seats ahead of him was passing. 

One of his own profession, he knew, would have 
snapped, with a disdainful curl of her lip: ‘‘Back 
out, Willie, you’re in the wrong stall.” This failing, 
she would have promptly and with no uncertain 
hand, slapped the man’s face, which would have 
effectually terminated the affair. A woman accus¬ 
tomed to finer things, Wayne imagined, would have 
calmly frozen the young man with a dignified stare; 
then, in a few well chosen words, put it beyond the 
shadow of a doubt that his acquaintance was not 
desired. 


THE BRUTE TAMER 


13 


At an early age, Yeatman had run away from his 
home and oppressive parental authority in a small 
Virginia town and joined a traveling animal show, 
eventually becoming an expert trainer. He had 
learned to successfully handle lions, tigers, panthers; 
in fact, about all of the jungle animals. Several dis¬ 
astrous experiences had fallen to his lot, to some of 
which the scar on his face and his scarred hands and 
arms testified, but to him this was only a part of the 
day’s work. He had been the first man to exhibit 
thirty tigers in a steel barred cage at one time, an 
act that had not yet been duplicated. 

Men told him his marked success in animal train¬ 
ing was because he possessed a hypnotic eye, what¬ 
ever that is. Himself, he scoffed at this, claimed 
the whole thing was merely a case of teaching your 
brute pupil in the beginning that you were his mas¬ 
ter and never thereafter, no matter what might hap¬ 
pen, permitting him to realize that you feared him; 
which was probably as close to the truth of the 
matter as the human mind, uncomprehending the 
sealed animal mind, may come. 

Yeatman was on his way now to the end of the 
rail line, there to take whatever mode of travel 
might be available in reaching the Big Loon Lake 
country in Ungava, that vast land of mystery to 


14 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


the north of Quebec from whence come the finest 
furs the world produces. 

He had heard vague reports of a strike of copper 
up there and there he owned a matter of a thousand 
acres, more or less, recently inherited from a paternal 
grandfather who had bought several adjoining 
claims at a time when a man could take up three 
hundred and twenty acres for himself—now he can 
take up but forty. 

It might be there was some of the red metal on 
this land, Wayne didn’t know. If there was, he in¬ 
tended to dispose of his holdings to the best possible 
advantage and return to the States, for copper the 
metal was selling at iic and, at present, there was 
no profit in mining anything but the very highest 
grade ore. Two thirds of the world’s copper mines 
had shut down completely because of the low selling 
price. 

Aside from owning that thousand acres, Wayne 
was practically broke, for which there were adequate 
reasons—one of which was that his last engagement 
had been with a road show managed by a woman 
who had done him for six months’ salary. He had 
only enough money to carry him to the end of the 
railway line; after that he would be forced to work 
his way. 

Yeatman watched the girl and the Italian for a 


THE BRUTE TAMER 


IS 

few moments with only mild interest. Then he saw 
the young man throw one arm across the back of 
the seat and, in emphasizing some remark, press the 
girPs shoulder with his hand. 

She drew away. In his partial view of her face, 
Wayne thought he saw fright. Before, he had 
merely been contemptuously amused; now there was 
something in the girPs face that changed matters, 
aroused him. His eyes began to glow. 

^Tf that wop don’t behave himself there’s apt to 
be a small sized Italian clem”—he meant fight—“on 
in this car in about two shakes,” he reflected. “I 
haven’t anything against his talking to the dame, 
if she’s agreeable, but he’s got to behave himself.” 

At that moment the Italian dropped his arm about 
the girl’s waist. In a second Wayne was standing 
beside them, his hat in his hand. 

“Pardon me, miss,” he said, “but is this man 
annoying you?” 

The Italian turned and confronted Wayne with 
indrawn chin and outthrust lip. 

“Boss, you keep a out dis, or maybe you get a de 
troub’.” 

Wayne’s whole body stiffened and his arm shot 
out. Grasping the Italian by the collar of his coat, 
he yanked him to his feet. 

“So I get a de troub’, eh? You keep to the other 


i6 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


end of this car for the remainder of this trip, or 
I’ll give you more troub’ than you can comfortably 
digest in a month of Sundays.” 

He gave the man a hearty shove down the aisle. 

The Italian stumbled for a step or two, caught 
himself, whirled and confronted Wayne with an evil 
scowl and a knife in his hand. 

Over the man’s shoulder Wayne could see the rest 
of the gang rushing up in a bunch, hurdling seats and 
leaping over one another like frenzied animals in 
their haste to go to their comrade’s aid. His shoul¬ 
ders straightened. A whole hearted fight was meat 
and drink to Wayne Yeatman, and the wild blood 
of him sang in his veins. 

Wayne’s first powerful fist blow, all the weight 
of his steel muscled body behind it, crashed home 
on the under jaw of the young man with the knife, 
putting him down and out, knocking over two of his 
onrushing companions as he fell. Then, as Wayne’s 
swinging arms began to strike out right and left, the 
whole gang was upon him. 

He had planted a half dozen blows and two more 
men were down, when three of the heaviest Italians, 
including a fat padrone, mounted seats at his rear 
and fell upon him in d bunch. 

He dropped to the floor of the car, half smothered 


THE BRUTE TAMER 


17 

beneath their weight, still desperately fighting with 
fists, feet and teeth. 

Two heavy nail-studded boot taps, propelled by 
two hundred and fifty pounds of fat Italian, de¬ 
scended one on each of his arms, pinning them to 
the floor. Unable to do anything save kick in¬ 
effectively, he was beginning to feel himself beaten 
when a softly warm hand holding something hard 
and cold touched one of his own hands that was 
pinned to the floor. 

He gripped the cold thing quickly, realized that 
it was an automatic, managed to twist up his wrist 
and began to pump out the shots. 


CHAPTER n 


THE FLAPPER 

With cries of dismay, the Italians fell away. In 
one breathless second, Wayne was on his feet again, 
crouched, confronting them. 

Covering those still able to stand with his weapon, 
he .had just shouted: “You damn wops, get back 
to the other end of the car and stay there, or I’ll 
plug every one of you,” when the door behind was 
thrown open and a bellowing voice cried: 

“What the devil are your men trying to do here, 
Giacca? Who started that shooting? Thought I 
had all you chaps disarmed. Must have been hiding 
out on me.” 

A tall dark man stood in the aisle scowling. One 
of the Italians, the fat padrone^ was bending for¬ 
ward, the sweat dripping from his features, offering 
stammering apologies. 

“Boss, we mak a no troub’; no troub’ at all. We 
no shoot. Theese man here, he start a de fight. He 
strik one a my men, Giuseppi; knock out two more.” 

“The darned wop was annoying that girl there,” 

i8 


THE FLAPPER 


19 


explained Wayne, flipping a finger toward the pale 
featured young woman. ^'He asked for all he got 
and pulled a knife on me.’’ 

The padrone pointed to the senseless Giuseppi, 
lying on the floor. 

“You see, Giusep’, he only a boy; he just play a 
little.” 

“All right, but let’s have no more of this,” said 
the dark man. “Come, padrona, take your men 
down to the other end of the car, bring them to, and 
give me that knife. I got work for you chaps to do 
at the camp; can’t have any of you getting killed be¬ 
fore you reach there. The next man I find hiding 
out a weapon on me. I’ll ship him back to Quebec.” 

He turned to Wayne and offered his hand as he 
added: 

“I’m Bill Black, head of the Black-Downey in¬ 
terests. I’m taking this bunch of Italians—there’s a 
whole immigrant car full of them up ahead—into the 
Big Loon Lake country in Ungava; got some copper 
land there—at least, we think there’s copper; may 
be fooled, though.” 

“My name’s Yeatman,” offered Wayne. “I’m 
also on my way up country; own a little land near 
Big Loon Lake myself.” 

Black dropped Wayne’s hand and eyed him nar¬ 
rowly. 


20 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


‘‘Say, you’re not related to old Anthony Wayne 
Yeatman, are you?” he snapped. “You look the 
dead spit of him.” 

“He was my grandfather; left me this land when 
he died,” answered Wayne, aware of a sudden born 
antagonism in this tall dark man confronting him. 

Black had high cheek bones and was sharp fea¬ 
tured almost to the point of emaciation. Though he 
had an abundant head of straight black hair, his 
face was entirely without eyebrows and had no sign 
of a beard. 

Wayne had mentally catalogued the man as a per¬ 
son with considerable Indian blood in him, which 
was true. Black’s mother had been a full blooded 
Apache—plains Apache, not Arizona Apache, which 
is quite different when it comes to the nature of 
the beast. 

“So you’re going up to Big Loon to look your in¬ 
heritance over?” commented Black. “Then I’ll prob¬ 
ably see you often; reckon our claims join.” 

With which remark he walked down the aisle 
toward where the padrone, Giacca, was speedily re¬ 
viving his three men with copious draughts of 
chianti from a well filled bottle. 

Wa)me turned to the young woman who had sunk 
back into her original seat, produced a tiny mirror 
and was industriously powdering her nose. 


THE FLAPPER 21 

“This your automatic?” he asked, holding forward 
the weapon. 

She looked up. “I think it is, but won’t you please 
keep it? Auntie made me take two, but I should 
never dare fire them and don’t believe I could hit a 
house if I aimed for it at fifty feet.” 

Wayne gazed down thoughtfully at the weapon. 

“Sure you don’t mind?” he said a little diffidently. 
“It came pretty near saving my life; I feel attached 
to it already, and I don’t happen to carry a firearm.” 

“Of course I don’t mind, or I should never have 
offered it,” she answered, holding toward him a 
package she had just drawn forth from her hand¬ 
bag. “You’d better take these bullets, or cartridges, 
or whatever they call them, too.” 

He accepted the package with thanks and had 
turned to return to his seat when she arose quickly 
and laid a hand on his arm. 

“Please wait just a moment. I haven’t thanked 
you yet for coming to my aid when that man be¬ 
came annoying. I have traveled considerably in 
Italy. He spoke Italian; so do I. I hoped, when 
he opened a conversation, that he might be polite 
and nice, and that we could have a pleasant chat 
about his homeland. Some of the Italian peasants 
can be wonderfully fine; but I saw, of course, after 
a moment, that he only intended to be fresh. It wais 


2 2 THE WOMAN TAMER 

tremendously good of you to protect me; I am very 
grateful.” 

Wayne looked at the girl with a half puzzled, half 
scornful smile. She was thanking him'rnost gra¬ 
ciously, yet, somehow, he thought he caught a pe¬ 
culiar undertone in her voice, or perhaps a look in the 
depths of her handsome beryl-gray eyes that seemed 
to add the unexpressed mental reservation: ^^Of 
course I could have got the situation in hand myself, 
after a while, if you hadn’t interfered.” 

^‘Handled it herself!” he thought. ‘‘She’d have 
been as helpless as an infant. The poor baby doesn’t 
know anything.” He made a sudden resolution. 

Affection for his adult brute pupils was something 
Wayne Yeatman had never felt; he was too keenly 
aware of the infinite treachery that forever lurked 
in the nature of them. Yet a tiger kitten, or a young 
lion cub, frolicsome, awkwardly helpless, was a thing 
that appealed to him. Those he defended, petted 
and played with until they began to develop their 
blindly brutal fighting instincts. Then he knew the 
time had come to teach them that he was master, 
and he did it relentlessly, in the brute way, the only 
way they could understand—with the whip. Now, 
there had come into Yeatman’s heart, something of 
the feeling he had often experienced when handling 


THE FLAPPER 


23 

a softly furred and helpless young tiger kitten only 
a few weeks old. 

Dropping into the seat beside the girl, he said: 
‘Tlease don’t think I’m attempting, like that Italian, 
to get fresh; but may I ask you one question? You 
don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I shan’t 
be offended.” 

For some reason which Wayne could not at the 
moment fathom, a warm wave of color suddenly over¬ 
spread the girl’s features and her eyes dropped be¬ 
fore his gaze. 

^‘Of course you may ask your question,” she said 
after a second’s hesitation. ‘‘One can be sensible 
about talking with strangers, as well as silly, can’t 
one? What is it you wished to know?” 

“Well, first, where are you going?” 

“Up to the Big Loon Lake district in Ungava,” 
she answered. “Auntie and I own some land up 
there, what is known as the Chovard tract, about 
a thousand acres, and we’ve recently heard there 
may be copper on it—or in it, whichever is correct.” 

Wayne Yeatman stared at her, unable, almost, to 
credit his sense of hearing. 

“Holy cats! ” he thought. “Am I dreaming or did 
I get her wrong?” 

Aloud he finally managed to stammer, leaning a 
trifle closer: 


24 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


‘Taxdon me, miss, but did you say your land was 
the Chovard tract?” 

‘‘Yes,” she answered. “The Chovard tract. The 
original owner was my step-uncle, marrying auntie 
for his second wife. He^s dead.” 

For a moment Wayne’s mind was in a daze, his 
thoughts complex. Then: 

“Going up there alone?” 

Her head tilted a trifle to one side as she studied 
his face. 

“I believe the original bargain was for a single 
question, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he replied gravely. “You don’t have to 
answer any more if you don’t want to.” 

She laughed, a pleasant laugh. “How serious you 
are. Of course I’ll answer another, all you wish— 
and that I can. Answering questions so simple as 
these would be the least I could do in return for your 
gallantry in protecting me a moment ago.” 

“Forget that,” he interrupted, already feeling a 
little ashamed of it himself, as if, perhaps, he had 
ventured in where he really had no business to. 

“Yes, I’m going alone,” she continued. “I’m doing 
it partly because I wish to prove that a young 
woman who conducts herself properly can go any¬ 
where she desires in America without being harmed. 
Besides, realizing how frail I am, I want to become 


THE FLAPPER 


25 


hardened and to see life, in the raw, as they say, 
and I want to find out all I can about the Chovard 
tract.” 

“But, great hokum, woman, do you realize what 
this country is that you’re going into with two suit¬ 
cases and a load of primeval innocence? Do you 
know that they call the whole district between the 
Marquette and the Sipigon rivers. Hell’s Doorway? 
It’s no place for a woman, that is, no place for a 
gently reared woman of your sort. Why, I don’t 
believe you ever slept out under the stars and the 
sky in all your life.” 

Her face became sober. “No, I never did; but 
aren’t there any hotels or boarding houses up there?” 

“Hotels and boarding houses!” he exclaimed. 
“There aren’t houses of any kind. Don’t you under¬ 
stand? Ungava is an unsettled country. Aside from 
around Fort Carillon, there’s no shelter to live in 
except what you take along with you.” 

“Well, I really didn’t know,” she answered. “I 
left Quebec suddenly without preparation; but I 
shall get along somehow. I’m not disappointed; in 
fact, I’m rather glad, for, as I said before, what I 
want to do is rough it.” 

Wayne glared at her in blank amazement. Rough 
it in Ungava with high heels and two suit cases! 

“Ye gods, what an awakening she’s got coming to 


26 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


her!” he thought. ‘'She won^t last two days after 
she leaves the train; she^ll crack at the first jolt. 
Why, the self-conscious little flapper can^t even talk 
fifteen minutes without pausing to p)owder her nose; 
she^s done it a half dozen times since I first saw her.” 

“May I inquire,” he asked a little diffidently, “why 
you left Quebec so suddenly? I know it^s an im¬ 
pertinent question, but I’ll explain later why I want 
to know.” 

“IVe no objection to telling you,” she answered. 
“There was a man wished to marry me.” 

Wayne stared. “Great hokum; you didn’t have 
to run away; couldn’t you say no?” 

“But I’d been saying no for several years,” she 
explained patiently. “I was beginning to be afraid I 
might sometime have a moment of weakness and say 
yes. So, as he was coming to see me again, I thought 
it an excellent time to come up here and look over 
my Chovard tract. He’s a very nice young man, 
and he is very persistent; but he’s not the sort I 
ought to marry.” 

“I see,” said Wayne. “I inquired about this be¬ 
cause I wondered if you could go back. Now that 
I know you can, my best advice to you is to get off 
at the next stop and either return home, or, if you 
are positively set on going to Ungava, secure an out- 


THE FLAPPER 


27 

fit and some friend who is familiar with the locality 
to come with you.” 

“Yes, I know,” she answered. “It^s very kind of 
you to advise; but I’m determined to—to go it 
wholly on my own, as they say; though, of course. 
I’ll have to hire a guide after I reach the end of the 
rail line.” 

“Oh well, if you’re stubborn,” Wayne had started 
to say, his mind filled more with disgust at such co¬ 
lossal innocence than anything else, when a hand was 
laid on his shoulder. He turned and looked up. It 
was Black who had come back from the other end of 
the car. 


CHAPTER III 


A PROPOSITION 

“Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, 
Yeatman/’ said Black. “But will you give me about 
ten minutes of your time? I want to put an im¬ 
portant business proposition up to you.” 

“Sure,” answered Wayne, arising as he made his 
excuses to the young woman. 

“Let’s sit here,” said Black, taking a seat a short 
way down the aisle and throwing over a seat opposite 
into which Wayne dropped. 

“I’ve been thinking about that land of yours up 
at Big Loon,” said Black, leaning forward and speak¬ 
ing in a low tone. “Why not sell it to me? I’ll give 
you a reasonable figure for your claim to the thou¬ 
sand acres before I know whether there’s any copper 
there or not, just to round out the Black-Downey 
section into which yours cuts. What do you say?” 

Wayne’s every sense became acutely alert. Not 

having any money to develop it himself—if there 

was copper there—he would, an hour ago, have 

grasped eagerly at almost any sort of an offer. But 

now, after what the girl had told him, it was entirely 

28 


A PROPOSITION 


29 


another story. Though he could not have explained 
exactly why, he seemed to feel that, if there was going 
to be any dispute over who really owned this parcel 
of land, he would much rather the girl had it out 
with him, rather than with the dark and sinister 
featured Black whom he had distrusted from the 
first. 

^^Nope,” he said laconically. ^‘Guess I’ll have to 
keep the tract.” 

Black eyed him closely. ^What’s the matter?” 
he asked. “Got your papers all right and with you, 
haven’t you?” 

Wayne had his papers; they were folded into his 
money belt, but something, perhaps because his show 
life had made him naturally suspicious of every 
stranger, and because he sensed in Black’s talk the 
presence of an African in the fuel pile, made him 
dodge. 

“No, they’re in a safety deposit box at Quebec.” 

Black became effusive. “Oh, we can fix that all 
right, then,” he said offhandedly, rocking his head. 
“Get off at the next stop, take a train back and ar¬ 
range the matter in Quebec inside of twenty-four 
hours. I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars for 
the tract.” 

Twenty dollars an acre! Wayne almost laughed, 
and his usual limit was an infrequent smile. 


30 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Yesterday, he would have grabbed like a starving 
man at ten! And considered himself one of the most 
fortunate mortals on earth. Then, he had no certain 
idea whether there were even signs of copper on his 
land. Now, if Black was willing to pay twenty thou¬ 
sand for it, he was positive there must be copper 
there, perhaps millions of tons. This was something 
like! 

^‘Don^t believe I want to sell at any figure—not 
until I’ve looked the land over, anyway,” he said. 

Black appeared dumfounded. “See here, Yeat- 
man,” he urged earnestly. “Nobody knows whether 
or not there’s an ounce of copper on your claim, I 
give you my word for that: under those circum¬ 
stances, I’m making you a mighty liberal offer.” 

“If there’s no certainty of copper, why are you 
so hungry to buy it?” 

Black’s eyes shifted out the window a moment, 
came back, and met Wayne’s. 

“I’m just gambling that there may be copper 
there,” he said, tapping Wayne’s knee with a long 
brown finger. “And, as I said before, I want to 
round out our section. I’ll give you twenty five thou¬ 
sand—cash.” 

“No use,” answered Wayne. “I’m not ready to 
sell.” 

For a moment Black fidgeted in his seat and it 



A PROPOSITION 


31 


seemed as if he were going to flare up and get angry. 
Then he secured control of himself and said, as he 
arose from the seat: 

“Well, promise me you’ll give us the first chance, 
anyway, Yeatman. We can live if we don’t buy your 
land; but I certainly would like to round out ours, 
and your thousand acres will just do the trick.” 

“Can’t make any promises till I look it over,” 
answered Wayne. 

Black made a helpless gesture, as if to say: “This 
man is an utter fool,” and left the car. 

Wa3aie watched him go with a perplexed mind. 
What was in the air? Something tremendously big, 
of that he was certain. The reports he had origi¬ 
nally picked up about copper in the Loon Lake dis¬ 
trict had not been particularly optimistic, just copper 
there, perhaps valuable, if copper ever approached 
a price where it would pay to mine it and to find 
some way of freighting the metal to Arleen, the then 
nearest railroad point. All very vague, yet here was 
Black, of the Black-Downey interests—whatever 
they were, Wayne wished he knew more about them 
—willing to bid $25,000 for land which they, or, at 
least Black, claimed to know very little about. 

“One thing,” Wayne mused. “I’ve got to keep 
that man Black away from that girl. If he once 
gets acquainted with her and she really has an any- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


32 

where near reaisonable claim to the Chovard tract, 
she’d likely jump at any offer he’d make her.” 

Then: ^‘Wait a minute; would she? She may not 
be such an innocent as she appears. There’s some¬ 
thing about her I haven’t quite got yet. She looks 
and talks, most of the time, like nothing but a soft 
baby-doll; yet that quietly courageous act of slip¬ 
ping the automatic into my hand when those Italians 
had me down was no baby-doll play; it was the act 
of a woman, a woman with a head on her shoulders, 
and nerve, too. If one of those Italians had been 
next to what she was doing they’d have smashed her 
in a second.” 

He glanced up the aisle to where she sat, interest 
again buried in her book, apparently oblivious to the 
fact that there was a soul in the car save herself. 
He recalled now the title of the volume she had been 
reading: '‘The Psychology Of Faith And FearP He 
had expected it would be a story of the Pollyanna 
order. 

''Deep stuff,” he reflected. "There must be some¬ 
thing to her if she can digest that Freudian brand of 
literature.” 

The train stopped and began to back into a siding. 
Wayne thrust his head out of the window. They 
were at a tiny log station on which he could see the 
name. Green’s Coule. He recalled that it was the 


A PROPOSITION 


33 


last stop before Arleen, the end of the line. He 
wondered what they were backing into the siding 
for; surely it could not be to allow another train to 
pass, for there were but two trains a week each way, 
and they had already passed the down train. 

But mildly interested, he was watching a couple 
of young French-Canadians engaged in a good na- 
tured tussle just inside the station doorway, when 
he became aware that the front part of the train 
was drawing away from his car, its speed increasing 
every minute. It was already several hundred feet 
away. 

A look of profound disgust overspread Wayne’s 
features as he hurried to the door and stepped out on 
the front platform. 

“Stung! ” he muttered. “It was as easy as filching 
peanuts from a blind elephant. I’ll bet a red apple 
Black is at the bottom of this; put up a job with the 
conductor to stall me here.” 

He pondered a moment, looking back through the 
aisle of the car. The Italians had decamped quietly 
by the rear door sometime before; they were prob¬ 
ably on the moving train now, going to Arleen. The 
only two people left were Wayne and the girl. 

“Black probably thought she was with me,” re¬ 
flected Wayne. “Well, I can only make the best of 
it.” 


34 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


He reentered the car. The girl looked up with a 
friendly smile as she inquired: 

“Why are we waiting here so long?” 

He dropped into the seat beside her and explained 
matters. She did not seem greatly troubled. 

“But surely there must be some way of going on,” 
she offered. “Isn’t there another train?” 

“Next week Tuesday,” he answered. “But I’ve no 
intention of waiting for that. I intend going on to¬ 
day, somehow, if I have to foot it. It isn’t that I’m 
in such a devil of a hurry as it is the idea of letting 
Black do me. If you’re still set on making your 
way to the Big Loon Lake country, you’d better 
throw in your lot with me. I’ll go out and see what 
I can do toward securing a conveyance to take us 
to Arleen.” 

He had started away when she caught his arm. 

“Wait a moment, please,” she said, studying his 
face. “A short time ago you asked me several direct 
questions and I answered them frankly. Now I 
want to ask you some; will you answer them?” 

“Don’t know until I hear them,” he replied. “But 
shoot, anyway.” 

She met his glance squarely. “Are you well sup¬ 
plied with funds?” 

He colored like a boy caught stealing fruit. 

“Why do you ask that?” 


A PROPOSITION 


35 


“Well, youVe not clothed exactly like a man with 
plenty of money. I gathered the idea that perhaps 
you were out of funds.^’ 

For a second he was almost angry, not at her 
question, but at her assumption that he would be 
such a simpleton as to come up into Ungava dressed 
other than as he was. 

“The little fool expected I’d have on a red hunting 
coat, varnished boots, and a tweed hat with a green 
feather in it,” he thought. “She’s the absolute 
limit!” 

Aloud he said, “Great cats, miss, you didn’t supn 
pose I’d be dressed like a fashion plate, did you? 
Even if I had all the money on earth I hope I’m 
not such a dumb-bell as to come into this country 
wearing anything except the roughest outfit I own.” 

It was she who colored now, and she drew in her 
feet so that her French heeled shoes and silk hose 
were somewhat less conspicuous. 

“That’s a dig at me,” she said with a little pout. 
“Perhaps I’m not properly clothed for the trip, but 
it isn’t necessary to rub it in.” 

“I’m not rubbing it in,” he answered. “I’m just 
explaining one reason why Vm clothed as I am. 
But, to be frank with you, while I’ve money enough 
to take me to the end of the rail line, unless some- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


36 

thing turns up there, I shall have to work or beat 
my way if I go any farther.” 

Her face became suddenly alight. 

“Look as if you were glad of it,” he offered a little 
sulkily. 

“Perhaps I am,” she answered. “For, now that I 
know your circumstances, I can make you an offer 
that I hope you’ll accept.” 

“Well,” he said, “spring it.” 

“To begin with,” she said, “I realize now that I’m 
terribly unprepared for the trip I have planned.” 

“Terribly is right,” he declared, half under his 
breath. 

She frowned. “Please don’t interrupt me. I 
should have sought the advice, before starting, of 
someone who knows the country and how to get 
along in it. But I didn’t and here I am, and I’ve 
no idea of turning back. I’ll go through, even though 
I have to go all the way in these.” 

She stuck out one high heeled shoe and looked at 
it ruefully with a little moue. 

“Now you evidently know how to get along and 
take care of yourself in this country, but you’re 
broke—or pretty near it. I don’t know how to get 
along, but I have ample funds; suppose you manage 
the journey for me, while I finance it?” 

Wayne gasped. She, who might yet come to dis- 


A PROPOSITION 


37 


pute his claim to the thousand acres he thought he 
owned in the Big Loon Lake district, was making 
this proposition to him, Wayne Yeatman! And she 
had known him but a few hours. Was she a fool, or 
was she a very wise young person or what the devil 
was she? It was queer. 

“Of course I’ll probably be a terrific burden to 
you, and I’m likely to bore you to extinction with my 
chatter,” she continued. “But, honestly, I want to 
learn how to rough it, and I promise to be no more 
of a burden than I can help, and you must permit 
me to finance everything.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” he answered. “If I accept 
I’ll let you pay the bills and I’ll not allow you to be 
too much of a burden.” 

“Do you mean that for a threat or a promise?” 
she returned quickly. 

“I expect we’d better call it a promise,” he said. 
“I’m not in the habit of threatening women; it only 
makes them want harder to do what you’re trying to 
stop them from doing.” 

“And you accept?” she asked eagerly. 

He pondered a moment. “I’ll let you know when 
I come back from seeing what arrangements I can 
make about going on.” 

He left the car. She again became absorbed in 
her book. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


38 

“One thing I'll say for that kid," he thought. 
“Nothing on earth seems to phase her—not if she 
can get a chance to powder that pretty nose of hers. 
Gosh! how that nose does worry her. If mine 
bothered me one tenth as much I swear I'd have it 
amputated." 

Then: “Wonder what her name is. I don't even 
know that yet, and here I'm considering piloting this 
Flossie of Fifth Avenue up through Hell's Doorway. 
Good God—and several more yards of the same. 
That sweetly innocent manner of hers will be con¬ 
stantly cutting against my grain: keep me nerved up 
all the time; I’ll want to beat her—and I can't. 

“Then, too, there’s bound to be trouble between 
me and Bill Black; he intends to prevent my reach¬ 
ing Loon Lake—and she’ll be a continual drag on 
me in that. Still and all, her proposal to finance the 
trip helps me to hurdle a lot of my difficulties; sup¬ 
pose I ought to consider that side of the matter. 
Oh, damn!" 

Wayne went to hunt up the Green's Coule station 
agent thoroughly vexed with himself. Had a man 
made the proposition this girl had, he could have 
said yes or no easily enough; but there was some¬ 
thing about her that caused him to feel wholly differ¬ 
ent. She was helpless, but there was more than that 


A PROPOSITION 


39 


to it, and the fact that he could not understand 
just what the added factors were increased Wayne^s 
anger with himself, made it just so much more diffi¬ 
cult for him to decide. 


CHAPTER IV 

A MESSAGE 

Inside of half an hour Wayne was back at the 
stalled railway car. 

“Just as I thought,” he said as he sank into a 
seat beside the girl. “They dropped this car here 
intending to pick it up on the next down trip. The 
station agent says they always do it if a car is almost 
empty along toward the end of the line; to save 
haulage. The agent was dumfounded when he found 
there were two passengers aboard, yet the conductor 
must have known. I figure it’s a put-up job on the 
part of that man Black.” 

“The person who called you away when you were 
talking to me?” she asked. 

“Yes.” Wayne eyed her sharply. “Ever see him 
before?” 

“Not that I recall,” she answered. “And I think 
I should remember him had I seen him; he looks so 
much like an Indian.” 

“Watch your step with him,” cautioned Wayne. 

40 


A MESSAGE 


41 


‘^Now about going on. There’s a man boards with 
the station agent owns a couple of mules and does 
some freighting. He’ll carry us to Arleen for eight 
dollars; he said fifteen at first, but I beat him down 
to eight, and it’s an unadulterated hold-up at that, 
but the only thing we can do.” 

She glanced up eagerly. “Then you have de¬ 
cided to accept my offer?” 

“As far as Arleen; then we’ll see.” 

“At least that’s something,” she said. “I shall 
depend on you to make every arrangement and you’d 
better take this.” 

She began fumbling about in her handbag, finally 
pulled out a big roll of bills and handed it to him. 

He stared at it. There looked to be at least a 
thousand dollars. 

“Ye gods! Handing a tent showman her roll!” he 
reflected. “And she carried it loose in her handbag, 
as though it were as valuable as a paper of pins. It’s 
a wonder she ever got it as far as here.” 

Aloud he said, “Do you usually carry your funds 
like that?” 

' She looked up innocently. “I’ve never lost any¬ 
thing yet.” Then she added with a little frown, as 
she caught his censure: “I know I’m green and un¬ 
sophisticated, but, if I do things wrong, please don’t 
criticize me; just tell me how to do them right. 


42 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


That^s the bargain I made with you, to teach me how 
to get on in this country.” 

^‘Oh, all right,” he answered. “I’ll begin now. 
You’ve got to discard those spangles, wear different 
clothes. After you’ve been jolted fifteen miles over 
a tote road behind a pair of mangy mules in a spring¬ 
less wagon, those overture duds you’ve got on will 
make you look like a butterfly that’s been through a 
cloudburst. The station agent’s wife, Mrs. Cava¬ 
naugh, had a sister from the States come up to visit 
her last fall, and she left a lot of outdoor clothes 
here when she went home. I judge she was about 
your size and I’ve bargained with Mrs. Cavanaugh 
to let you have them. You’d better go and get into 
them; we leave for Arleen in thirty minutes.” 

He pocketed the money, picked up her two suit¬ 
cases, carried them outside the car and toward a log 
shack at the rear of the station. 

“If you take my advice,” he said, “you’ll leave all 
your fancy clothes and gew-gaws with Mrs. Cava¬ 
naugh. You’ll have no use for them where you’re 
going—and you may not always be lucky enough to 
find a man to freight your traps for you.” 

She looked at him, blankly and with a helpless 
gesture. 

“Do you mean to leave all my nice clothes and 


A MESSAGE 


43 

things here?’’ she asked, the tears almost in her 
eyes. 

“Exactly that,” he answered brusquely. “If you 
continue on after we reach Arleen, the biggest part 
of the way will be on the river, by canoe, boat or 
raft.” 

He glanced scornfully at the blouse she wore. 
“How long do you expect a pink crepe-de-chine 
waist—if that’s what you call that material—would 
last in a half mile stretch of river rapids, you cling¬ 
ing to a raft for dear life with your toes and finger 
nails, drenched with spray, expecting every second 
to be lammed off into a whirlpool that would suck 
you under and smother you as easy as it would a 
helpless chipmunk?” 

“I don’t know what a chipmunk is,” she answered 
with some dignity. “But quite naturally, one doesn’t 
fancy the idea of leaving all one’s decent clothes 
behind, wherever one intends going.” 

For the last hour Yeatman’s temper, never any too 
placid, had been steadily getting more and more 
frayed; now he was close to losing it entirely. 

“The blamed fool,” he thought. “One! One! 
That ‘one’ gets my goat; it’s worse than that eternal 
powdering her nose; I’ve got to show her, and it 
might as well be here and now.” 

He slammed the two suit-cases to the ground. 


44 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


“Look here, miss,’’ he snapped. “If we are going 
into this thing together, we might as well understand 
each other. By the way, what in hell—what is your 
name, anyway?” 

She looked at him a moment without answering. 
Then: 

“It’s Cecile Dennison.” She spoke it sweetly, us¬ 
ing her best Billie Burke stare, always heretofore 
effective in calming the male temper. Both weapons 
of defense—or is it offense?—were destined to carom 
off Wayne Yeatman at the present moment as easily 
as would water off a swan’s back. 

“Cecile!” he snorted. “I might have suspected 
it. Well, I don’t like your flossy name, and from 
now on, I’m going to call you kid; get that, kid? 
And if you and I expect to travel peacefully together, 
you’ve got to do exactly as I say without any more 
quibbling or questioning.” 

He paused a moment, frowning down on her as 
she sat on one of the suit-cases. Then he barked: 

“What’s the matter, lost your voice? Why don’t 
you say something?” 

When Wayne Yeatman spoke, he was accustomed 
to getting either action or an answer; ordinarily, 
failing of both, he would have swung into action 
himself. Now, as she stared into his face with sud¬ 
denly narrowing, acutely appraising eyes, he felt a 


A MESSAGE 


45 

strange inward sense of diffidence that was wholly 
new to him. 

“Of course, since you understand this country,’’ 
she said finally, “I realize that I must do as you say; 
but I think you might, at least, be a bit more gentle¬ 
manly in expressing your desires.” 

“No,” he snapped, with emphasis on the adjec¬ 
tives, “I don’t intend to be gentlemanly; I intend 
to be decent and man-like—s’ long as you behave. 
And you might as well understand first as last that 
when things don’t go my way I can show a temper 
that will fry eggs. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to 
lump it—or dissolve the partnership. That’s all.” 

He picked up the suit-case. “Now come on, kid; 
we haven’t any time to waste if you’re going to 
change your clothes and be ready to start when that 
mule driver is.” 

He conducted her to the station agent’s shack, 
left her and her suit-cases with Mrs. Cavanaugh 
and went outside. 

He had waited perhaps twenty minutes when he 
heard the door behind him open. He turned and 
stared, at first thinking the person he saw there was 
a stranger; then he realized that it was Miss Denni¬ 
son, but what a change! 

She had on a loose khaki colored, many pocketed 
hunting jacket, blood stained in several places and 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


46 

somewhat the worse for wear; a pair of khaki riding 
breeches, tan cordovan puttees and heavy, hob-nailed 
shoes. She had done up her flame-of-gold hair in two 
close pleats and wound t];iem about her head. Her 
hands were encased in a pair of buckskin gaunts. 

‘‘That’s more like it,” thought Wayne as he sur¬ 
veyed her with keen and critical glance. “If she 
only had a little color in that face of hers she’d be¬ 
gin to resemble a real person.” 

She caught his look and tossed her head. 

“Do I appear rough and disreputable enough to 
satisfy you now?” 

“You’ll do,” he answered curtly. “Where’s your 
traps?” 

She pointed to the suit-cases just inside the door¬ 
way. She had been happily disappointed in these 
clothes; she knew now that she looked at least strik¬ 
ing, if not dashingly handsome in them, and she had 
expected him to say something to that effect. She 
had rarely before met men who failed to compliment 
her when she looked well. 

Wayne hipped his hands and gazed at the suit¬ 
cases with a scowl. It was evident that she had not 
profited by his advice about leaving all her elaborate 
clothes behind. She watched him, a defiant gleam in 
her eyes that ought to have been a warning but 
wasn’t. 


A MESSAGE 


47 

He picked up one of the cases and slammed it 
back inside the hallway. 

“There!” he barked. “You’ll leave that behind. 
One is enough for you—and about a half more than 
you’ll have any use for.” 

A second she stared at him, her eyes blazing; then, 
as she picked up the case he had discarded: 

“There are things in that suit-case that I shall 
need; if you’re not strong enough to carry it, I am.” 

He was about to answer, then decided not to, took 
the case from her hand and tossed them both into the 
wagon as the mule driver and his rig came around 
the corner of the shack. “First blood for her,” he 
thought. “She’s got me buffaloed.” 

All of Wayne’s outfit had been carried to Arleen 
on the train, so there was no other luggage save Miss 
Dennison’s two suit-cases. The mule driver, whose 
name was Sam Pelby, a tall, bony individual, glanced 
at these with deep scorn as Wayne assisted their 
owner onto the rear seat. 

“Looks like you newlyweds ain’t goin’ up outfitted 
very heavy,” commented Pelby as he stowed away 
the suit-cases. 

“Heavy enough,” answered Wayne curtly. “And 
for your private information, driver, let me add that 
this young woman and I are not newlyweds. She 
has hired me to look out for her as far as Arleen 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


48 

because she happ>ened to get left behind on the train, 
that’s all—but don’t forget it.” 

“Oh! Not newlyweds,” said Pelby with a poorly 
concealed sneer. 

Wayne was disliking this fellow Pelby, evidently 
in a bad temper because of having been beaten down 
in his price for the trip, more every moment. Yet 
he knew better than to begin an argument while the 
man was their only means of reaching Arleen. 

“Later, I’ll give this bird a piece of my mind,” he 
thought. 

They started. The tote road proved to be, during 
the first part of their journey, in reasonably good 
condition. But there were mosquitoes and there was 
a particularly insistent pest which the Indians of 
that locality call no-see-ums, a tiny fly that got in 
their nostrils and their eyes and was even more irri¬ 
tating than the larger insects. 

The distance to Arleen was about twenty-five 
miles. Pelby’s mules, accustomed to carrying heavy 
loads of freight, seldom did more than seven miles an 
hour, so that it would require at least three hours 
for them to reach there. 

During the first hour there was no conversation; 
the passengers were too busy fighting the mosquitoes 
and flies, while most of Pelby’s energy was devoted 
to cursing the laziness of his mule team. Finally 


A MESSAGE 


49 

the sun dropped lower, it became cooler and the 
insects less ravenous. 

They had been jogging slowly on for perhaps two 
hours when Wayne’s keen ear caught the sound of 
rapid hoof beats at the rear. He turned els a single 
rider, a boy, came into sight around a bend, waving 
an arm and shouting. Pelby also turned. 

“It’s young Dan Cavanaugh,” he said. “Wonder 
what he wants? Must be we forgot something.” 
Pelby drew the mules to a halt. 

The boy came up, thrust a yellow envelope toward 
Pelby, saying breathlessly: 

“Dad got a message for you; made me bring it 
on; said it was terribly important.” 

Pelby’s face was a picture of surprise. “Who the 
devil’s sending a message to me. I warn’t expectin’ 
any.” 

He tore open the envelope and began to read it. 
Then Wayne, watching him, saw the man’s eyes shift 
slowly beneath half lowered lids and glance covertly 
toward Miss Dennison—then back to the message. 

Wayne’s muscles became suddenly taut, as they 
had when he expected treachery from some animal 
he was training. 

“What’s up?” he thought. “Something, I’ll bet a 
red apple. And if I ever saw the look in a man’s 


50 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


eyes that means he’s planning to double-cross you in 
about two seconds, it was in Pelby’s then.” 

He leaned forward, attempting to get a glimpse 
of the message, had just caught the name Black 
signed to it when Pelby folded the paper quickly, 
thrust it into his pocket and began to turn his mules 
about as he said, with an altogether too obvious at¬ 
tempt to speak nonchalantly: 

“Sorry for you folks, but I’ve got to go back. I’ll 
take you on again tomorrow morning.” 

He began shouting “Haw! Haw!” and yanking 
viciously at the mules who were evidently averse 
to turning in a spot where the tote road was deeply 
gullied and there was a sharp declivity at the left. 

Wayne made a sudden determination. Having 
attained thus far on this journey, he did not intend 
to be balked in reaching Arleen that night, not by 
any message from Black, anyway. 

The thought flashed through his brain: “This 
thing is deeper than it looks on the surface; Black 
is taking altogether too much trouble to gain a mere 
visionary copper prospect.” 

Whipping Miss Dennison’s automatic from his 
pocket, he pressed the cold muzzle against Pelby’s 
abdomen. 

“Not now, you’re not going to turn back,” he 


A MESSAGE 


51 

snapped. ^‘YouVe bargained to carry us to Arleen; 
you^re more than half way there; keep on.” 

Filled with surprise, Pelby gave an extra vicious 
yank on the rein of the nigh mule. The animal 
whirled sharply, the wheels cranked and the wagon 
overturned. 

In a breath, Wayne found himself on the ground, 
Pelby on top of him. At the same moment he heard 
Miss Dennison utter a terrified scream and saw, in 
the gathering dusk, the blurred shadow of the mule 
team crashing over the declivity at the left and dis¬ 
appearing. 


CHAPTER V 


hell’s doorway 

Pelby had secured a grip on Wa3nie’s automatic 
and was attempting to wrench it from his hand when 
Wayne’s left fist found its mark and the mule driver 
sank back inert on the earth. 

W’ayne leaped to his feet and his eyes roved the 
vicinity in search of Miss Dennison. She lay white 
and still a short distance away. In a bound, he was 
at her side, chafing her hands, loosening the neck of 
her hunting jacket. 

In spite of him, the touch of her soft warm flesh 
shot a thrill to his outermost nerve end. With an 
impatient gesture and a muttered: “I’m not going 
to make a fool of myself over a damned spoiled kid,” 
he fought down the surge of a feeling he despised. 

Finally she stirred and sat up. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing much; the wagon overturned and threw 
you out,” he answered. “Are you injured?” 

“I—I don’t think so,” she replied. “But I feel 

terribly dizzy when I move my head.” 

52 


HELL’S DOORWAY 


53 

‘^That’s nothing,” he said. ^^Sit there a moment 
and you’ll soon be all right. I’m going to look after 
that mule driver.” 

Wayne went over to where Pelby lay, the Cava¬ 
naugh boy kneeling beside him. Pelby was begin¬ 
ning to recover from the effects of the smashing blow 
he had received in the face, but was still helpless. 
Wayne saw the yellow enveloped message protruding 
from his pocket and pulled it forth. While Pelby 
lay there groaning that he was killed, he knew he 
was, Wayne read the message. 

It was short, but it held a world of meaning. 

^‘Sam Pelby, Green’s Coule. 

“Very important. Hold Yeatman at the Coule if 

you have to break both his legs. Let the girl come 

on. Black.” 

“Let the girl come on.” The sentence drummed 
on Wayne’s brain pan like the steady drop of a 
mighty trip-hammer. What did it mean? Did Black 
know her? Was he aware that she also laid claim 
to the Chovard tract in the Big Loon Lake country, 
or was she, perhaps, in his employ and had that whole 
business of her boarding the train and enlisting 
Wayne’s interest been a cleverly planned scheme? 

“The darn kid doesn’t look or act like the sort that 
would double-cross anybody in a really serious mat- 


54 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


ter,”‘he thought. ‘‘Still and all, you never can tell; 
they say a man may smile and smile, and be a villain 
still; I reckon a woman can, too.” 

He glanced to where she sat. She caught his look 
and thrust something hastily into the pocket of her 
hunting jacket. His suspicions suddenly flaming into 
life, he leaped toward her and gripped the arm still 
thrust into her pocket. 

“What^s that you’re trying to conceal?” he 
snapped. 

For an instant she stared at him defiantly. Then: 

“Please don’t be a bigger fool than you can help,” 
she said and withdrew the hand. It contained her 
powder puff and a tiny mirror. 

“Might have known it,” he said disgustedly. “It’s 
all of thirty minutes since you powdered that nose 
of yours.” 

“Well, it’s my nose, isn’t it?” 

To that he could think of no answer. 

He went to the edge of the deep declivity beside 
the trail. At the bottom he could make out the 
shadow of the wrecked wagon, near it the two mules, 
both dead. He pondered a moment. 

“Looks like our only chance of getting to Arleen 
tonight is to hoof it. I wonder if the kid can stand 
an eight mile hike?” 


HELL’S DOORWAY 


55 

He threw up his head at a call from young Dan 
Cavanaugh. 

^‘Sam says his ankle is sprained; help me get him 
up on the saddle of my horse, will you, so I can carry 
him back to the Coule?” 

Wayne hurried to where Pelby lay, still groaning, 
and hastily examined his ankle. Then, aided by the 
boy, he lifted the mule driver into the saddle. Once 
there and headed back toward the Coule, Pelby be¬ 
came defiant. 

‘‘Damn you, Yeatman,” he snarled malignantly. 
“You killed my mules, wrecked my wagon and broke 
my ankle. I’ll remember you for this.” 

“Blame all your trouble on me,” answered Wayne. 
“You’re the sort of a sneak would do that. Any 
time you feel like mixing in, let me know. I’ll be 
there to see you do your stuff.” 

Pelby and the boy rode away into the darkness. 
Wayne went to where Miss Dennison was slapping 
mosquitoes. 

“Think you can stand an eight mile hike?” he 
asked. “Or would you prefer to wait here for the 
remainder of the night and go on to Arleen in the 
morning? Our only method of getting there now is 
to walk.” 

She pondered the matter a moment. “I don’t 
think the mosquitoes were quite as bad while we 


56 THE WOMAN TAMER 

were moving. I believe I prefer to walk on now.” 

‘‘All right,” he answered, picked up the suit cases 
that had been spilled from the wagon before it 
toppled over the edge of the declivity and started. 

For a while, she walked silently beside him. Then 
she began to lag. 

“Too much for you?” he commented, a little scorn¬ 
fully, waiting for her to come up. “I thought it 
would be. Want to camp here until morning?” 

“It’s not too much for me,” she whipped out 
spiritedly. “I’ll keep on to Arleen tonight now if I 
have to finish the journey on my hands and knees.” 

“Think you’re gritty, don’t you?” offered Wayne. 

Abruptly, and to his utter astonishment, instead 
of answering him in kind, she dropped beside the trail 
and burst into tears. 

He stared at her a moment. Then: 

“What in hell are you crying about?” 

Her head jerked up. “None of your business. I 
guess I can cry if I want to, can’t I? Perhaps you’d 
cry if every muscle in both your legs ached like the 
toothache.” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” he returned gravely. “That 
would be self pity: something anybody ought to be 
ashamed of. Besides, wait until sometime when your 
feet get blistered, every step is agony and all your 
muscles ache like a thousand decayed teeth. Then 


HELLOS DOORWAY 


57 


if you still carry through, you’ll have something to 
brag over. You’ve got to be a smile-if-it-kills-me kid 
up here.” 

With a defiant stare, she brushed the tears from 
her eyes, arose and started on—ahead. 

^‘Going to show me the way,” he thought. “Won¬ 
der if she can keep it up. Bet a red apple she can’t.” 

Wayne was destined to lose his wager. After a 
while she appeared to get her second wind and even 
led the way into Arleen. 

They found a hotel where Wayne booked a room 
for himself and one for Miss Dennison. 

“Now I expect you’re ready to eat the place out 
of a week’s rations?” he asked. For himself, he was 
as ravenous as a bear coming from a winter’s hiber¬ 
nation. 

“Don’t mention food to me,” she exclaimed in¬ 
dignantly. “The only things I want to see are a bath¬ 
tub and a bed; after a half hour in the first I’m 
going to sleep the clock around in the second.” 

She shot him a glance and disappeared with the 
bell boy and her suit-cases. 

Wayne went to the hotel restaurant and ate and 
ate. Then he, too, retired, but not to fall imme¬ 
diately into sleep; his mind was too active for 
slumber. 

“What am I going to do about this girl?” he re- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


58 

fleeted. “Pilot her up to the lake and let her contest 
my claim to the Chovard tract, or hand back her 
roll, now IVe brought her to Arleen, and let her 
shift for herself? 

“There’s no doubt about her intentions to get to 
the lake, even if it takes a leg, and if I keep on at 
her expense I’m just that much to the good.” 

He drew the roll of bills from his money belt where 
he had placed it when getting into bed and counted 
them. There was $1255. 

“Holy cats! I ought to have left this in the hotel 
safe!” he thought. “Now I shan’t dare go to sleep.” 

But Wayne did sleep, the deep dreamless slumber 
of infants and healthy, outdoor adults. When he 
awoke it was daylight and the money was safe. 

As he bathed and dressed, he thought, “If I don’t 
look after this kid, somebody else will, and the other 
fellow may double cross her at the first chance. 
Guess I’ll have to close with her offer, and see what 
turns up.” 

Downstairs in the restaurant, he had just had his 
breakfast order filled and was beginning to eat, 
when, sitting back to the entrance, he heard two men 
busily engaged in conversation enter and take seats 
at a nearby table. Wayne did not turn; he had 
recognized the voice of one of the men. It was Black 
of the Black-Downey interests. 


HELL’S DOORWAY 


59 

“I’m going to ship that gang of Italians down the 
river this morning,” Black was isaying. “Dave 
Trumbell will look after them. You’d better stay 
on here and keep an eye on things. If anything 
turns up, and I need more men. I’ll find some way 
of letting you know. Martinelli, the head padrone in 
Quebec, said he could send up a thousand, two thou¬ 
sand, if we needed them. I don’t know, but I think 
we can make enough show for a while with this gang; 
still, we may need all he can ship us. I intend to go 
the limit—if it’s necessary.” 

Wayne strained his ears in an endeavor to hear 
more, but Black had dropped his voice and the two 
were talking confidentially. 

“Two thousand men! What use can Black have 
for that number?” thought Wayne. “I’m positive 
no mine has been opened there yet; it wouldn’t be 
any use, no way of getting the ore out to a smelter 
even if it were high grade stuff.” 

Wayne finished his breakfast and lingered, smok¬ 
ing a cigarette. He wanted Black and his companion 
to leave the room first and hoped to avoid their atten¬ 
tion. Finally he heard their chairs scraping; but, 
as they arose, he could make out their footsteps com¬ 
ing directly toward his table. No chance to escape a 
meeting now, he thought. 


CHAPTER VI 


HAMPEX 

The two men were about to pass Wayne’s table 
when Black happened to glance casually that way. 
He halted, stared a brief second, then advanced with 
outstreched hand. 

“Hello, Yeatman,” he called. “Was looking for 
you last night, but the train conductor said you must 
have been left behind by accident at Green’s Coule. 
He sent the brakeman in to tell you that car was to 
be dropped there, but the chap forgot it. How’d you 
get in?” 

“Blamed liar,” thought Wayne. “Does he sup¬ 
pose I’m fool enough to swallow that hokum?” 

Aloud he said, ignoring Black’s outthrust hand: 
“I got in all right—and with neither leg broken— 
yet.” 

Black gave a perceptible start. Wayne’s remark 
made it obvious that he had read the message sent 
to Pelby, yet Black was too wise a diplomat to pick 
up the matter. 

“Lucky boy,” he said with a forced laugh. “Going 
down the river, I suppose?” 

6o 


HAMPEX 


6i 


‘Tlanning to/’ answered Wayne curtly. 

^^Got your transportation engaged?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Better get a move on, then.” With which re¬ 
mark Black turned with his companion and left the 
restaurant. 

Wayne watched him go with a puzzled frown. 

“Wonder what Black means,” he thought. 

He arose from the table, paid his check and went 
to the hotel desk. The hour was early and the night 
man was still on. Wayne had rather taken a fancy 
to the chap on the evening before; he was pleasant, 
accommodating and looked brightly intelligent. 

“Bill Black stopping here?” asked Wayne. 

The clerk nodded. “Just went out.” 

Wayne leaned closer. “What’s his game up in 
the Big Loon Lake country?” 

The clerk smiled. “Wish I knew, brother, I’d 
follow his lead. No Black-Downey wheel ever turns 
unless there’s grist in the mill. Going up?” 

Wayne nodded. “What’s the best way to travel?” 

“Canoe, if you’re alone,” answered the clerk. 
“Raft, if you’ve got a party.” 

“For two, say, or possibly three; two men and a 
woman?” said Wayne. 

The clerk lifted an expressive eyebrow. “For a 
woman, I’d say afoot. The annual death toll on the 


62 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


river during the season has seldom been less than a 
dozen men; in heavy seasons more. If the rapids 
don’t keep up the average, the falls are sure to.” 

“Still and all, I’m afraid I shall have to chance the 
river trip,” said Wayne thoughtfully. “You see, I’m 
in something of a hurry. Where will I be likely to 
find a man that knows the stream and will take care 
of my party?” 

“There’s usually dozens around the river front will 
jump at the job, but they’re not all men I’d want to 
hire. Ever hear of Rouge Dubois?” 

Wayne shook his head. 

“Best man on the river—if you can get him; 
knows every ripple from here to Big Loon Lake— 
and beyond.” 

Wayne left the hotel and went toward the river 
front. Usually, at this season of the year, a goodly 
share of the traffic was toward Arleen, men coming 
out of the country before winter froze it up; but now 
Wayne found the place as hummingly busy as a hive 
of bees. And now he understood Black’s last re¬ 
mark. 

Customarily, a journey ii. > Ungava is referred 
to as going “up there,” probably because it is up on 
the map. As a matter of fact, however, the current 
of the Marquette flows down all the way to where it 
empties into Big Loon Lake. 


HAMPEX 


63 

It was Black’s Italians going down stream made 
the usually dull place busy today. Twenty rafts 
had been built for the transportation of themselves 
and their goods and when Wayne discovered that at 
least one experienced river man would be needed to 
pilot each raft, he began to realize how slim were his 
own chances of securing a guide. He inquired of 
several men regarding the whereabouts of Rouge 
Dubois. 

^‘Went down the river several weeks ago; hasn’t 
come back yet; lost in the rapids, mebbe, I don’t 
know,” was the most definite information Wayne 
could dig up after much questioning. 

The first raft loads of Italians were due to embark 
around noon and Wayne discovered that every avail¬ 
able guide had been engaged to pilot their crafts. It 
looked as if he would have to wait or chance it 
without a guide. 

He returned to the hotel in rather low spirits. As 
he came in the day clerk beckoned to him. 

“Tom Porteous, the night clerk, wants to see you,” 
he said. “He’s in room two hundred and one.” 

Wayne hurried upstairs and knocked at room 201, 
totally unaware of what a tremendous influence on 
future events the coming interview with Porteous 
was to have. 

“Just the man I want to see,” said Porteous, 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


64 

throwing open the door. ^^Come in. I was afraid 
you wouldn’t get back before I left.” 

The young man’s eyes were shining and he ap¬ 
peared excited. Over his shoulder Wayne caught 
sight of a trunk and a suit-case in process of being 
packed. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

Porteous closed the door and drew Wayne to the 
far end of the room. 

“Don’t want anybody to listen in on our talk,” 
he said. “Ever hear of the Hampton Exploration 
Company?” 

Wayne shook his head. 

“Inhale these horrible details, then,” said Porteous. 
“Hampex has been one of the perennial footballs of 
the New York curb market for the past five years. 
H. P. Hampton, the big promoter, started the com¬ 
pany with the intention of using it to develop some 
Quebec ore leases he thought looked promising, but 
the plan fizzled out, never amounted to a picayune. 
The original capitalization was for a million shares 
at fifty dollars par. Almost any time within the last 
year or so you could pick up all you wanted on the 
curb—it never had anything but curb listing, as it 
was purely speculative—for anywhere from four 
cents a share to four cents a bale. Men bought the 
pretty things to paper their dens with. 


HAMPEX 


65 

far, so good; now IVe got a tip from down 
home that the Black-Downey interests are quietly 
absorbing all the Hampex stock they can lay their 
hands on/’ 

“Well, what of it?” said Wayne, unable to see any 
point in Porteous’ talk. “If the Hampton Explora¬ 
tion Company was started to develop certain Quebec 
mining properties, what has that got to do with the 
Big Loon Lake country where the Black-Downey 
attention seems to be centered now?” 

“Sweet cement! Can’t you see? That’s precisely 
where the catch comes,” answered Porteous. “Ham¬ 
pex has got a charter that beats Bay State Gas a 
mile for being wide open. They’re organized to de¬ 
velop ore territory anywhere on earth, anywhere on 
earth, get that? Licensed to engage in almost any 
business they care to frcMH potting ham to salvaging 
skyscrapers. About the only thing they haven’t got 
a license for is to commit murder and engage in high¬ 
way robbery, though Hampex came pretty close to 
the last several times—and they don’t own a penny’s 
worth of property anywhere; all their leases expired 
two years ago.” 

“Then, according to your idea, the Black-Downey 
interests are accumulating Hampex because they’ve 
got hold of something tremendously big in the Loon 


66 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Lake district and intend to use Hampex to finance 
it?” asked Wayne. 

should think so,” answered Porteous. “And, 
such being the case, I intend to sink every penny I 
possess, or can beg, borrow or steal, in Hampex 
stock. It looks to me like a pipe, a pippin, a cinch, 
and 1^11 either make my everlasting fortune or go 
cheerfully to the slaughter.” 

Wayne’s eyes began to glow, but not with en¬ 
thusiasm; it was suspicion caused that dark red 
gleam in their ruby depths, suspicious of Porteous. 

“The damn fool takes me for a sap,” he was think¬ 
ing. “This story of his has Bill Black written all 
over it. Wants to get me out of the country and 
thinks his phony tale will do it.” 

Then, on second thought, “Still and all, I don’t 
know. I’m blamed if I don’t like this chap, Porteous. 
He’s kiddish, but he don’t look like a crook, nor like 
a chap Black could twist around his finger for any 
funny business. I’ll play him a little.” 

Aloud he said, watching Porteous’ face closely: 

“Look here, how’d you get this tip, and why are 
you spilling it to me, a total stranger?” 

Porteous looked mysterious. “I can’t tell you how 
I got the tip; it’s a confidential source,” he answered. 
“But it came pretty straight from the Black-Downey 
brokers in New York.” 


HAMPEX 67 

“1^11 bet it did/^ thought Wayne. ^‘Direct— 
through Bill Black.” 

to why I’m giving it to you,” continued Por- 
teous, rather gregarious myself and I don’t ex¬ 
actly fancy the idea of going down to New York 
to buck the curb market alone. You struck me as 
being a regular fellow, and I thought maybe you’d 
like the idea of trailing along with me, trying your 
luck a little. Financially, I’m reasonably well fixed 
at present—I took this hotel job merely for the ex¬ 
perience and to see the country—and if you’re short. 
I’ll stake you.” 

Rolling a cigarette with lowered eyes, Wayne 
studied the matter. On the face of it, this was a re¬ 
markably generous offer. Apparently Porteous had 
taken as much of a liking to him as he had to Por¬ 
teous. Yet a hard life, the greater part of it spent 
among rough men whose code of existence was to dis¬ 
trust everybody, caused Wayne Yeatman’s suspicions 
to be always on the alert for an attack or a surprise, 
as he had been forced to be with his brute pupils. 

Porteous, watching him, evidently sensed this dis¬ 
trust, for he suddenly thrust forward his hand with 
a winning smile as he said earnestly: 

‘‘Don’t blame you for hanging back, Yeatman, 
but I give you my word this thing is straight as a 
string.” 


68 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


For once, as he met that infectious smile and noted 
the clean, frank manner of the young man before 
him, Wayne Yeatman’s suspicions were lulled to rest. 

He answered Porteous’ glance with one equally 
frank as he accepted the hand and shook it heartily. 

guess you^re all right, boy, and I’m grateful 
for your confidence. But I can’t go to New York. 
What you’ve told me makes me only so much more 
anxious to get into the Big Loon Lake district.” 

Porteous stared at him a second, as if suddenly 
struck with an idea. 

^^Sweet cement! You don’t happen to own any 
land up there, do you?” he exclaimed. 

‘^Sure do,” answered Wayne. “A thousand acres, 
more or less.” 

‘‘Anywhere near Black’s claim?” 

“Adjoining.” 

Porteous was about to make a further remark 
when Wayne cut in with: 

“Wait a minute. You said ‘Black’s claim^; hasn’t 
he got a clear title to his property up there?” 

“Not yet,” answered Porteous. “It’s in the courts; 
there’s a squatter’s claim against it, and, as you 
probably know, squatter’s claims in the Canadian 
courts are looked upon as being pretty strong, espe¬ 
cially if the original owner has neglected his stake 
and made no development.” 


HAMPEX ^ 


6g 

‘‘I see/^ said Wayne thoughtfully. He was begin¬ 
ning to gain a clearer view of that African in the fuel 
pile whose presence he had suspected since first meet¬ 
ing Black. glad you told me this; the facts 

may be useful to me later; but I’m mighty sorry I 
can’t go into your curb market scheme,” he added 
with genuine regret. 

“That’s all right,” said Porteous. “If I owned a 
thousand acres next door to any Black-Downey 
property I’d want to camp on it night and day for 
the next six months, or at least until I knew exactly 
what Bill Black was up to. When do you start down 
the river?” 

Wayne spoke dubiously. “Can’t say. Black has 
engaged every guide for the rafts his Italians are 
going down on and I couldn’t seem to locate your 
friend Rouge Dubois.” 

A queer look overspread Porteous’ face. He stared 
thoughtfully out of the window a moment, then 
turned again toward Wayne. 

“See here, Yeatman,” he said, “I’m putting a devil 
of a lot of trust in you and I don’t know why it is, 
but I’ve felt pretty sure all along that you were pure 
white and would keep anything I told you under your 
hat.” 

“I’m not a man with a loose mouth,” answered 
Wayne quietly. 


70 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Porteous laughed genially. that’s evident. 

I’ve told you my affairs freely but you haven’t spilled 
much about your own. But that’s all right. Per¬ 
haps I’m sometimes apt to impart confidence too 
easily myself, when I like a man. Anyway, I’m go¬ 
ing to tell you something else that I want you to keep 
under your hat.” 

Wayne nodded. “You can tell it safely.” 

“Rouge Dubois is in town; but he’s got a broken 
leg and he doesn’t want Bill Black to know he’s 
here: he had some sort of trouble with Black’s men 
up country. With his smashed limb, Dubois 
couldn’t, of course, guide you down the river himself, 
but I have an idea he might put you next to some 
one who can.” 

) 

“Where can I find Dubois?” asked Wayne. 

Porteous waited a moment before answering. 
Finally: 

“I’ll give you a note to him and directions how to 
find the place, but don’t go there until after dark.” 

“I wanted to start today if I could,” said Wayne. 

“You’ll be wise to put it off until tomorrow,” 
answered Porteous. “Those rafts of Black’s will 
clutter up the stream for a mile.” 

“I see,” said Wayne. “Maybe you’re right. Any¬ 
way, I’ll be tremendously grateful to you for a note 
to Rouge Dubois.” 


HAMPEX 


71 

Porteous sat down at a table, pulled paper and 
pencil from a drawer and began to write. 

Wayne watched him with intent eyes. Would he 
seal the letter? Had he done so, Wayne^s suspicions 
would have been immediately aroused; but Porteous 
did not seal the envelope, he merely thrust the sheet 
inside, folded over the flap and handed the envelope 
to Wayne with directions how to find Rouge Du¬ 
bois^ stopping place. 

^^Rouge will fix you up if he can,’’ concluded 
Porteous. ^‘He’ll do a lot for me, and I’ve written 
a strong word for you.” 

Wayne left Porteous’ room and went downstairs. 
He was passing the entrance to the hotel restaurant 
when he chanced to glance inside, halted, and drew 
hastily back. 

Seated at a table, busily engaged in conversation, 
were Bill Black and Cecile Dennison. Dressed in a 
stylish traveling suit, she was eating; Black wasn’t. 

As Wayne watched them, he saw Black hand Miss 
Dennison a paper which she signed and returned to 
him, receiving in exchange a roll of bills. Black 
then left her and went to another table where his 
own lunch was waiting. 

Boiling mad, filled with infinite disgust, Wayne 
turned away and sank into a chair in the hotel lobby. 

‘The damned little simpleton,” he thought. “She’s 


72 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


probably signed away everything but the clothes on 
her back. After my warning her against Black, too. 
Well, here’s where I quit her, but I’ll hand her a 
piece of my mind first, the minute she leaves that 
restaurant.” 


• 


CHAPTER VII 


black’s trick 

For half an hour Wayne Yeatman fumed and 
fretted, smoked innumerable cigarettes and waited 
for Cecile Dennison to conclude her lunch. 

As it happened, it was Black who finished first. 
Leaving the restaurant, he came dJrectly to where 
Wayne was sitting, dropped into a chair and pro¬ 
ceeded to light a cigar, a remarkably good one as 
Wayne noted from the odor. 

“Hello, Yeatman,” he said. “Saw you passing the 
restaurant doorway while I was talking to your friend 
in there. She was telling me about her counter 
claim to the Chovard tract in the Big Loon Lake 
district. Suppose you know about that?” 

Wayne, controlling an almost irresistible impulse 
to rise and choke the man where he sat, merely 
nodded and threw away his cigarette with a gesture 
of deep dislike. 

“Reckon then, since you know there’s a counter 
claim, you’ll feel more like taking up with my offer,” 
said Black.- “It’s still open, twenty-five thousand 
dollars.” 


73 


74 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


His mind beset by a dozen puzzling problems, 
Wayne’s brain began working with lightning rapid¬ 
ity. If Black still wanted to buy his claim, it seemed 
clear that he had not bought Miss Dennison’s. 
What, then, had been the meaning of that passage 
of money and a signed paper between them? And, 
if Black was still willing to pay twenty-five thou¬ 
sand for Wayne’s tract, was it because of his faith in 
the validity of that claim, or because he considered 
the sum a cheap price to pay in buying out the pos¬ 
sibility of a long money-eating lawsuit to decide 
which claim actually was valid? 

‘T’d heard about Miss Dennison’s claim to the 
Chovard tract before,” continued Black in a matter 
of fact tone. ^‘Saw her name on the hotel register 
this morning, looked her up and made her an offer. 
But she’s more stubborn than you are about selling 
for a reasonable figure. The best I could do with 
her was to get a sixty day option at two hundred 
thousand dollars. That price is a joke, but I may 
come to it yet—if there’s really as much copper as I 
hope there.” 

Here was a surprise. Evidently, if he were willing 
to buy a sixty day option from Cecile Dennison at 
that huge figure, Black knew more about the Cho¬ 
vard tract than Wayne had ever suspected, and he 
must regard her claim as the better one. Wayne 


BLACK’S TRICK 


75 


would have given considerable to know if Black had 
told Miss Dennison of his, Wayne’s, interest in the 
Chovard land, and would have attempted to find 
out, but, just at that moment, he caught sight of that 
young woman herself preparing to leave the restau¬ 
rant. 

Arising from his chair, he said curtly to Black: 

^‘No, my thousand acres in the Loon Lake dis¬ 
trict isn’t for sale now, and I don’t think it ever 
will be. The more I consider it, and the more 
anxious I see you are to buy it, the better I like 
that piece of real estate. If it’s worth twenty-five 
thousand to you, it’s certainly worth that to me.” 

Black, who had also observed Miss Dennison leav¬ 
ing the restaurant, chuckled. “Suspect you’re likely 
to change your mind before long.” 

Wayne confronted Cecil Dennison in the restau¬ 
rant doorway, his lips sternly set, his eyes glowing. 

“I’d like a few moments’ talk with you, please/’ 
he said. 

She met his glance, first with a smile, then her 
smile vanished and a look of smoldering defiance 
stole into her eyes. 

“Well, what is it?” she asked coldly. 

“No, not here,” he answered. “There are too 
many people about. We’d better go outside, if you 
don’t mind walking.” 


76 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


A faint wave of color stole into her pale cheeks. 

“You needn’t twit me about last night,” she 
countered spiritedly. “I’ve fully recovered from my 
fatigue and, anyway, I stuck it out, didn’t I?” 

“Sure you stuck it out, but it was temper, not grit, 
made you do it. Why didn’t you show some of that 
spirit with Bill Black? After my warning you 
against him, too?” 

They were on the street, going toward the river 
front. She halted and confronted him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You gave him a first option on the Chovard tract 
for sixty days at two hundred thousand, didn’t you?” 

“Wasn’t that all right?” she asked. “I shall be 
very glad to sell for that figure if he’s ever willing 
to pay it.” 

“Wasn’t it all right?” he repeated angrily. “You 
cussed little fool, don’t you know that if there’s cop¬ 
per on that land, it may be worth millions? That if 
Bill Black pays you two hundred thousand, it will 
be because Bill Black knows dead certain that it’s 
worth probably two hundred million. Now you’ve 
signed an option to sell at two hundred thousand, 
and, no matter how much the land turns out to be 
worth, you’ve got to sell your claim for that, if Black 
decides to take up his option within the time limit, 
sixty days.” 


BLACK’S TRICK 


77 

Wayne had been growing madder every minute. 
He had no patience with what he considered such 
utter stupidity. He would have liked to shake her. 
And she just stood there and stared at him! 

‘‘Well, what the hell you got to say about it?” he 
blurted out finally. 

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered meekly. 
“What ought I to say?” 

“How the devil do I know what you ought to 
say,” he countered. “But I know what I’m going 
to say. Here’s where you and me part company, 
and I intend to have the sweet satisfaction of telling 
you before I quit you that I always knew most 
women were blamed fools, but you’re a bigger blamed 
fool than I ever believed any woman could be.” 

He drew her money from his pocket and handed 
it toward her as he concluded, “That’s that—and 
good-by.” 

She took the money. He was turning away when 
she caught his arm. 

“Look here,” she said. “Don’t you think you 
also are being something of a fool? The thing is 
done, isn’t it, and it can’t be undone. I’m not a 
business woman; how should I have known? Any¬ 
way, I don’t see any sense in making all this fuss 
over it now that it’s a jait accompli.^* 

Her interjection of the French phrase did more 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


78 

to calm his temper than anything she could have 
said. The always hidden regret of Wayne Yeat- 
man^s life was that he was not an educated man. 
His feeling toward such things was almost reverence. 

One fact her talk had convinced him of. Black 
had told her nothing of his, Wayne’s, claim to the 
Chovard tract. And, after all, wasn’t what she said 
common sense; could she have been expected to 
prove a match for Bill Black, the keen brained 
money juggler, past master in the tricks of his trade? 

^Turthermore,” she concluded with some dignity, 

quite fail to see what right you have to question 
my actions in the matter.” 

Her last shot went home. Wayne had no intention 
of telling her about his inheritance of the Chovard 
tract, not until he had looked the land over, any¬ 
way. Thus, when it came to that, what right had he 
to question her actions? 

She must have caught the indecision in his face, 
for she went on: 

“Don’t you think you’d better take back this 
money and reconsider your resignation? I’ve been 
depending on you; you’re not very amiable; but you 
. do strike me as being capable. When I make a bar¬ 
gain, I stick to it, and I expect others to do the 
same.” 

“I only agreed to look out for you as far as 


BLACK’S TRICK 


79 

Arleen,” he answered a trifle sulkily. The inference 
that he was not sticking to his bargain had hurt. 

“I know,” she answered. ^‘But you half promised 
to go the remainder of the way, and anyway, I’ve no 
one else. The maid at the hotel told me this morning 
that every capable river guide—and some that are not 
capable—has been engaged by the Black-Downey 
company to pilot their Italians down the stream.” 

“All right,” said Wayne, beginning to feel that 
she was placing him on his honor. “I’ll see you 
through.” 

“That’s much better,” she said, handing him back 
the money he had given her and then drawing an¬ 
other roll of bills from her handbag. “Here’s some 
more you’d better look out for. It’s the two thou¬ 
sand dollars Mr. Black paid me for his sixty day 
option.” 

“Aren’t you afraid to trust a man who confesses 
to being practically broke with all this cash?” he 
asked. 

“No,” she answered. “If you had meant to de¬ 
camp with it, you’d have done so before this. What 
are your plans?” 

Without betraying any of the confidence Tom 
Porteous had placed in him, Wayne, as they returned 
to the hotel, told her that he thought there was some 
prospect of his finding a guide who would take them 



8o 


THE WOMAN TAMER 

down the river, but that it would not be wise to start 
until the following morning, as the great number of 
Black’s rafts would congest the river for a long dis¬ 
tance. 

Arriving at the hotel, Wayne entered the restau¬ 
rant to eat his lunch, while Miss Dennison went to 
her room. Lunch concluded, Wayne stopped at the 
hotel desk to inquire of the day clerk: 

‘‘Bill Black checked out yet?” 

“Some time ago,” answered the clerk. “Think 
he’s gone down the river with that mob of Italians 
he brought up from Quebec.” 

Wayne was glad of this. He could now look up 
Rouge Dubois with a feeling of greater safety. Ac¬ 
cording to his promise to Porteous, however, he 
waited until evening before starting in search of the 
French-Canadian guide. 

The house proved to be a low frame building on 
the outskirts of the town. After locating it, Wayne 
hung about the vicinity for a while to make certain 
that he had not been followed. Since Dubois did 
not wish Black to know he was in town, Wayne felt 
that these precautions were necessary. 

Finally he approached and knocked on the only 
door he could see. There were no lights visible in 
the building and it was almost five minutes before 
any response came. At last the door was opened a 


BLACK’S TRICK 


8i 


crack and a pair of shining eyes peered out, looking 
him over appraisingly. 

“Rouge Dubois live here?” he asked. “If he does, 
I have a note for him from Tom Porteous at the 
Hotel Marquette.” 

A bare, scrawny arm and hand were thrust out to 
take the envelope and then the door was abruptly 
closed. 

He waited ten minutes. Finally the door was 
again opened. He saw a withered old woman stand¬ 
ing there holding a candle, shading it from the wind 
with one hand. 

“M’sieu will please to enter?” she said. 

He entered and followed her along a bleak, un¬ 
carpeted hallway, noting that she locked and barred 
the door behind them. 

He began to feel a little uncertain. Might not 
this be another trap of Black’s, some scheme to pre¬ 
vent him from keeping on to the Big Loon Lake dis¬ 
trict? Yet, when he recalled the frank manner and 
boyishly honest face of Tom Porteous, it was hard 
for Wayne to believe that the night clerk had led 
him into any trap. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ROUGE DUBOIS 

As they arrived at the end of the hallway, the 
withered crone threw open a door and motioned 
Wayne Yeatman inside. He entered, expecting she 
would follow, heard the door behind him close 
abruptly and found himself in complete darkness. 

Instinctively, his every muscle tensed and he was 
balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything, 
when a powerful electric hand torch was flashed in 
his face, almost blinding him. Suspicious, expecting 
treachery at any instant, he had gathered himself 
to spring toward it when the torch was snapped off 
and he heard some one say. 

^‘M’sieu, you weel please pardon theese strange 
welcome. I was not sure whether m’sieu was a friend 
or an enemy. Now, we shall have some light.’’ 

There came the sound of a scratching match and a 
kerosene lamp was lighted. Wayne’s muscles began 
to relax. 

He found himself in a cheaply furnished room. 
Lying propped up with pillows on a bed at one side 

82 


ROUGE DUBOIS 


83 

was a giant of a man with pointed beard and darkly- 
tanned weather-beaten features, his right leg in 
splints. Beside him was a low table on which there 
was a box of cigarettes, the kerosene lamp and a rifle. 

^‘You are Rouge Dubois?’’ asked Wayne. 

am Rouge Dubois,” answered the bearded 
giant. ^^M’sieu weel please pardon eef I do not rise; 
my leg she gone bust. Weel not m’sieu take a chair 
—and a cigarette?” 

Wayne found a chair, brought it near the bed, 
accepted a cigarette and became seated. 

‘‘And now m’sieu’s errand?” said Dubois. 

“I thought Tom Porteous-” Wayne began 

when Dubois cut him short with a gesture. 

“I know, I know; but I prefair to hear it from 
m’sieu’s own lips.” 

For a moment the two eyed each other. Wayne* 
began to realize that he was under the microscope, 
that this giant lying on the bed was acutely studying 
his every word and action. 

Instinctively, he had, at first sight, taken a liking 
to the fellow. Dubois was six feet tall, wore his 
dark hair long, bound about his forehead with a 
twisted length of red drill and one sleeve of his wool 
shirt that had been torn away, disclosed a hugely 
brown and hairy arm that looked as if it might 
have felled a moose with a single blow. His cheeks. 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


84 

above the beard, were darkly red, his eyes beneath 
heavy brows were sharp and twinkling. He seemed 
to radiate good nature, yet Wayne could see from 
the play of his muscles and the swing of his enor¬ 
mous shoulders that here was a man who might be 
a devil in a fight. 

From the waist down, Dubois was clothed in a 
pair of brown corduroy trousers and a crimson sash; 
a leg of the trousers had been cut away to adjust 
the splints on his broken limb. One foot was bare, 
the other incased in a heavy, well worn moccasin. 

Rouge Dubois was a person to remember. At 
times he got prodigiously drunk—and then kept 
strictly sober for months. He would strangle a 
man for an insult or an injury, yet for a friend 
he would gladly risk his life. He was a giant in 
everything, a great lover, a great hater. Work, 
play or fight, he did either for all that was in him, 
but best he loved a good fight and he could take 
punishment as well as give it. There was almost no 
limit to his endurance. The wind swept seas and 
the wild north breed many such; contact with civ¬ 
ilization is apt to spoil them; they cannot breathe 
and keep themselves except where a never ending 
battle for life must be waged against the elements. 

Very frankly, having decided that, under the cir¬ 
cumstances, it was the wisest policy, Wayne ex- 


ROUGE DUBOIS 


85 

plained to Rouge Dubois about his errand into the 
Big Loon Lake country and his need for a guide 
for himself and Miss Dennison. 

As he finished, Dubois began to chuckle throatily. 

“So m^sieu own de Chovar’ trac’ an’ follow after 
Beel Black, eh?” 

“Yes, but not on Black’s invitation,” answered 
Wayne. “In fact, I’ve already gathered that Black 
may do all he can to prevent me from reaching my 
destination.” 

Dubois half arose on the bed and slapped his in¬ 
jured limb with an impatient gesture. 

“Thees bust leg!” he exclaimed. “M’sieu, seence 
you tell me what you have, I would geeve wan thou- 
san’—yes, by damn, two thousan’—dollar eef my 
leg, she were not broke. Then would Rouge Dubois 
see that you, M’sieu Yeatman, reech that Loon Lake 
in spite of feefty—seexty—seventy Beel Black. 
Mais out, but we would geeve heem wan beeg race 
for eet, eh, what, m’sieu?” 

“Look here,” said Wayne, learning forward as he 
caught the joy of battle in the man’s eyes, a wild 
joy that found reflection in his own, “what do you 
know about Bill Black’s business at Loon Lake?” 

Dubois pondered a moment. Finally: 

“TVow, non, m’sieu, I theenk I had better not say. 
You weel find eet out all for yourself when you get 


86 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


there, an’ me, wall, mabbe I don’ know so much 
as I guess, though Beel Black ees ’fraid I know more 
than I guess. An’ mabbe sometam I guess wrong, 
I might lead m’sieu astray.” 

“All right,” said Wayne. “That may be best. 
Now about this other business; I’m sorry you can’t 
take the job yourself; but can you direct me to a 
man who can?” 

Again Rouge Dubois spent several thoughtful mo¬ 
ments in studying Yeatman’s face. 

“You say there ees wan young woman?” he asked 
finally. “Mabbe the sweetheart of m’sieu?” 

“Nothing like it,” denied Wayne quickly. “She’s 
not my sort. I’ve no use at all for women, especially 
her kind, but the kid is all alone and she’s set on 
going up to the lake; and she’s agreed to finance 
the trip, so, as I happen to be short of funds my¬ 
self, I’ve agreed to look out for her.” 

Rouge Dubois burst into a laugh that made the 
bed on which he lay rock like a ship at sea. 

“By damn! Me, I like beeg smart womens, 
womens what can fight.” He paused, winked and 
lowered his voice. “My wife, she been dead two— 
free—four year, but mabbe you see wan woman at 
Fort Carillon that Rouge Dubois like pretty wall; 
she’s name Rosalie Thebault. Eef you ever get in 
trouble Rosalie, mabbe she help you out, eef you 


ROUGE DUBOIS 87 

tell her you know Rouge Dubois. Rosalie she can 
lick four men—when she good and mad.” 

Dubois paused a moment, knitting his brows, 
thinking. Finally: 

‘‘M'sieu, I also am sorry I cannot go weeth you: 
and that Beel Black, he’s engage every guide on 
river, but there ees my daughter, Nanette; she know 
la belle riviere like wan poisson —like the feesh. 
But my sweet cabbage has a temper, has that 
Nanette. Eef, m’sieu, you can stan’ the temper, 
Nanette ees look out for you and theese young 
woman in fine shape. She been up an’ down ole lady 
Marquette weeth me two—t’ree—four hundred 
tarn.” 

Wayne pondered the matter. He didn’t fancy 
the idea of adding another woman to his party; he 
felt he had his hands more than full with this Miss 
Cecile Dennison. Still, for her, a woman guide 
might prove a distinct advantage. But there was 
that matter of the temper; it suggested trouble. 
He was accustomed to having his own way, abso¬ 
lutely, and he foresaw a clash of wills if Nanette 
Dubois were to be his guide. Temper in his animal 
pupils had always meant a battle to Wayne Yeat- 
man, with himself the winner—or there was a dead 
lion, or tiger or leopard in the cage, whichever it 
chanced to be. He couldn’t kill a woman, but she 



88 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


certainly would have to knuckle under if their wills 
clashed, for his was iron. 

While Wayne studied the question, Rouge Dubois 
began rapping on the wall beside' his bed. The 
call was soon answered by the withered old crone 
who had admitted Yeatman. To her, Dubois gave 
an order in French and she vanished. 

^‘My ole nabber, Betty Langeir,’^ explained Du¬ 
bois as she went. “She look after me seence my 
wife, she die. Betty theenk some day I marry her.” 
He winked at Yeatman. 

The old woman had been gone but a few moments 
when the door again opened to admit a young 
woman. Wayne arose abruptly from his chair. In 
his varied life he had met women of many sorts, 
but never one quite like she who entered now. 

She might have been twenty, or she might have 
been less, for thoygh her wise eyes were the eyes 
of a woman, her skin, sun colored to a softly warm 
red-brown, was flawless, and her brightly vermillion, 
bee-stung lips had the pouting freshness of an adoles¬ 
cent child. Her well formed body was muscular, 
with swinging hips and full breasts; but it was her 
manner and carriage as she walked that most im¬ 
pressed Yeatman. 

No dignity was here; hers was the unconscious, 
innate grace, the perfect muscular coordination of a 


ROUGE DUBOIS 


89 

healthy young animal. As she moved easily across 
the room and took a seat on the bed beside Rouge 
Dubois, Wayne was instantly reminded of that most 
graceful of beasts, a young female leopard. 

“My daughter Nanette,’^ said Dubois. “Nanette, 
theese man’s name M’sieu Yeatman, Wayne Yeat- 
man. He’s good friend of Tom Porteous. He want 
for go down ole lady Marquette, but can’t find guide 
because Beel Black engage them all. Seence your 
farder have wan bust leg that keep heem in bed 
for mabbe week or so, I theenk mabbe you like 
pilot heem and hees young woman frien’ to Big 
Loon yourself, eh what, my sweet cabbage?” 

Dubois’ voice sounded caressing and conciliatory; 
it was plainly to be seen whose was the master will 
between these two, and the fact that it was the 
young woman Nanette somehow aggravated Yeat¬ 
man beyond measure. 

“The big lumper,” he thought. “Doesn’t he know 
that a girl like her ought to be handled as you 
would a nettle. Grip down quick and hard on a 
nettle and you are unharmed; handle it gingerly 
and you’ll be stung at a dozen points.” 

Nanette turned toward Wayne; their eyes met. 
Her own were twin mates for his; as did his, they 
gleamed now like wet rubies. 

Saying nothing, she continued to study him. He 


90 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


would have given much to know what was in her 
mind, yet her inscrutable mask, of which only the 
smoldering eyes seemed animate, told him nothing. 
She was looking at the scar on his cheek, at his 
scarred hands. He had strangled the leopard that 
made that scar on his cheek. 

Finally she nodded with evident approval as she 
said: ^‘And m’sieu is willing to pay how much 
for a guide?” Her voice was a remarkably musical, 
soft contralto. 

Rouge Dubois spoke quickly. ‘‘You had better 
allow your farder, ma’amselle, and M’sieu Yeatman 
to arrange that.” 

She made no comment, merely shifted those burn¬ 
ing eyes of hers to her parent’s face and studied 
that a moment, then looked again at Yeatman as 
she asked: 

“And has m’sieu an outfit?” 

“Nothing but clothing,” he answered. “We shall 
be obliged to depend on you for canoes, camp truck 
and food for three.” 

“Dammit,” he thought. “I hadn’t decided to hire 
her; what am I talking like this for? These two, 
between them, seem to be taking the whole thing 
out of my hands.” 

“And when does m’sieu wish to start?” she asked. 

“As soon as possible.” 


ROUGE DUBOIS 


91 


“Very well/^ she answered, arising. “I will be 
your guide. You can arrange the details with my 
father; he knows, or at least he thinks he knows, 
all about those things.” This last a little scorn¬ 
fully, and the door had closed behind her. 

Wayne Yeatman watched her go with puzzled 
eyes. 

“A woman of few words; I’ll say that for her.” 

He turned to Rouge Dubois and they arranged the 
details of the journey down the river. These mat¬ 
ters settled, Wayne took his departure. It was 
now within half an hour of midnight, and they had 
planned to start at seven the following morning. 

As Wayne stepped from the doorway of the Du¬ 
bois home, he happened to glance casually opposite 
toward a grove of young trees that grew there, and 
halted abruptly. What he took, at first glance, to 
be the glowing end of a cigar and the dim shadow 
of someone standing there, had caught his eye. A 
second look and he decided that he must have been 
mistalcen, for there was neither cigar light nor 
shadow visible now. 

He started walking briskly toward the hotel, only 
to again pause after a few steps. Traveling down 
wind, he had caught the unmistakable perfume of 
most excellent tobacco. 

Associating so much as he had with animals, 


92 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Wayne had, quite unconsciously, picked up some of 
their traits; one was an abnormally acute and un¬ 
failing sensitivity to different odors. 

“No mistaking the brand of that cigar,” he 
thought. “It’s one of Bill Black’s; same kind he 
started smoking when he came out of the Hotel 
Marquette restaurant after buying that option from 
the kid. He can’t have gone down the river. The 
blamed rat has been watching me. I might as well 
go back and have it out with him.” 

Turning, Wayne hurried toward the spruce grove, 
sniffing the wind as he went, getting madder every 
minute. 

But, on arriving there, he could find no one. Still 
boiling mad, he again retraced his steps toward the 
hotel, had arrived within a block of there, when, 
passing a shadowed doorway, he heard someone 
speak. 

“Throw up your hands!” 

Wayne threw them up. 

A man with a handkerchief shrouded lower face 
stepped from the doorway. A revolver pressed 
against Wayne’s stomach, he proceeded to go through 
his pockets. The reward was not great; only some 
silver and Miss Dennison’s automatic. These he 
cast disgustedly aside as he growled: 


ROUGE DUBOIS 


93 

“Tin-can sport, ain’t you? Must be more on you 
than that. Let’s see if you wear a money belt.” 

Gingerly, watching for the slightest sign of action, 
ready to shoot at the first move, the man pushed 
one hand inside Wayne’s coat. His fingers caught 
the feel of the money belt. The eyes above his 
handkerchief glittered. 

“Fork over that belt damned quick or I’ll be takin’ 
it from a corpse,” he snapped. 

Wayne pushed one hand inside his coat, made a 
feint of getting his sleeve caught and in less than a 
breath had the garment off and wrapped about the 
head and arms of his antagonist. It was an old 
trick, one he had worked hundreds of times with 
infuriated animals. 

Two seconds later both of them were rolling on 
the ground, battling desperately for mastery. The 
man had managed to free his arms. 

Not only was Wayne’s deed to the Chovard tract 
in his money belt; but there also was Miss Denni¬ 
son’s money; he wasn’t going to part with either 
without making a fight. 

After a moment, he found himself on top, the 
man safely pinioned, and was reaching out to secure 
the automatic lying nearby when he heard sudden 
footsteps behind him and felt the impact of a 
tremendous blow on the back of his head. It set 


94 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


a million stars flashing before his eyes, and it took 
all the fight out of him, but it did not render him 
wholly unconscious. 

With a groan of pain he sank to the earth, knew 
that someone was tearing the money belt from 
beneath his clothing, gripped up one arm in a final 
desperate effort to recover it, found a piece of cloth 
in his grasp, dragged at it, and exposed the face of 
the man who had been taking breakfast that morning 
with Bill Black. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE TABLES TURN 

A SECOND later there was only the sound of re¬ 
ceding footsteps and Wayne was alone with a split¬ 
ting headache and an acute sense of disgust that 
he had not had wits enough to leave his deed and 
that roll of bills belonging to Cecile Dennison in 
the Hotel Marquette safe when he went out in quest 
of Rouge Dubois. 

And now he was confronted with the necessity of 
telling Cecile that he had been robbed, that, unless 
she could raise more money, or he could find a way 
of earning some, the journey to Big Loon Lake 
must be abandoned. Would she believe him? Would 
she not think his story but a lie to cover his own 
thievery? 

A few deep breaths of the cool night air and 
Wayne^s head had ceased spinning, his thoughts had 
become clearer. Arising, a little unsteadily, he 
pulled out his watch and looked at it. 

“Six hours yet before we are due to start down 
the river; there must be something I can do.” 

95 


96 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


He had already made a deposit with Rouge Du¬ 
bois to cover the expenses of the trip, and had agreed 
to make a further payment in the morning when 
they started. 

‘‘Suppose I might go back to Dubois, tell him the 
circumstances of this hold-up and see if I can^t stall 
him off on that payment I was to make in the morn¬ 
ing,’’ he thought. - 

Picking up the automatic and the silver which, 
in their haste to depart, the two holdup men had 
neglected to take, Wayne started toward the cabin 
of Rouge Dubois. 

At first he traveled rather shakily, for the blow 
on his skull had been a mighty one; the effect clung. 
Yet Wayne was in ruggedly perfect health, inured 
to all sorts of hardships, and his splendidly work¬ 
ing heart and nervous system soon began to send 
fresh energy into his limbs. Feeling stronger, he 
walked more rapidly. 

As he arrived within sight of the Dubois home, the 
front door opened and someone came out. Wayne 
halted abruptly, drew back into a shadow and 
dropped to the ground. 

Whoever it was stood at the door talking. As 
Wayne watched, he saw a match struck. In the 
glare he caught a fleeting glimpse of Bill Black 


THE TABLES TURN 


97 

lighting a cigar and, standing in front of him, 
Nanette Dubois. 

Immediately suspecting treachery on the part of 
the daughter of Rouge Dubois, else why should she 
be talking with Bill Black, Wayne began to rage. 
He had all but decided to confront them when Black 
turned away, said “Good night,^’ and the door closed 
quietly. 

Black crossed the road and stood for a moment 
in the shadow of the trees, evidently watching the 
house he had just quitted. Finally he started on, 
coming directly toward Wayne, but on the opposite 
side of the road. Between puffs of his cigar, he 
whistled softly to himself. Quite evidently the 
man was well satisfied with whatever undertaking 
he had been recently engaged in and the fact further 
increased Wayne Yeatman’s anger. 

The moment Black had passed so far that Wayne 
could barely distinguish his moving form, he arose 
and followed. 

Black was traveling toward the river front. He 
had come to within a few steps of the water’s edge 
when he halted, sat down on a stump and lit a fresh 
cigar. 

“Waiting for somebody.” 

The thought had scarcely passed through Wayne’s 
mind when Black was joined by two other men. 


98 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Wayne could see the three clearly, but he was 
unable to catch their conversation. He thought he 
recognized the last two arrivals as his former as¬ 
sailants, but he could not be sure. Finally the 
three parted, one of the men handing something 
to Black and then the two getting into a canoe and 
paddling across the river. Black watched them a 
while and then came toward where Wayne stood in 
the shadow of a low building used for the storage 
of goods awaiting shipment up or down stream. 

Wayne gripped his automatic. ‘‘Mister Bill Black, 
here^s where I turn the tables on you,” he decided 
quickly. 

Stepping from the shadow, the automatic leveled, 
he confronted Black. The man did not even start 
with surprise, he merely halted and eyed Wayne 
sharply as he said: 

“Hello, Yeatman; what’s this mean?” 

“He’s got nerves of steel; I’ll say that for him,” 
thought Wayne. Aloud he snapped: 

“Put your hands up, that’s what it means—both 
of them; I’m in no temper for trifling.” 

Both of Black’s arms shot into the air. A sneer 
wreathed his hard mouth as he said: 

“Rotten business, Yeatman. You’ll do three or 
four years for this. What do you want, anyway?” 

“Only my own property returned,” answered 


THE TABLES TURN 


99 


Wayne. “Half an hour ago you had one of your 
men frisk me for my money belt; now my turn has 
come.^^ 

“So that^s your game?^’ said Black in a tone of 
distinct relief that puzzled Wayne. “Well, there’s 
small use in my denying it, since your money belt 
happens to be in my inside coat pocket. I ought 
to have known enough to empty it and throw the 
thing away as soon as they handed it over, but I 
wanted to look through it at my leisure, in case 
there might be any papers there.” 

Wayne experienced a feeling of keen satisfaction 
that Black had not examined the belt and found 
his deed to the Chovard tract. Himself, he had had 
lingering doubts of that document ever since Cecile 
Dennison’s declaration that she also held claim to 
the same land. 

After making sure that Black was not armed, 
Wayne secured the money belt, and ascertained that 
its contents were intact. 

“That’s all I want of you. Black; now you may 
go,” he said, thrusting the belt into his own pocket. 
“You can drop your hands.” 

Black dropped his hands, but did not turn to go 
away. 

“Look here, Yeatman,” he said, after studying 
Wayne’s features for a second or two. “What’s 


100 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


the use in your acting at cross purposes with me? 
That sort of thing is expensive, and, besides, it 
doesn’t get you anywhere. You want to go down 
the river, but I’ve sent all the river guides down 
stream with my men. I happen to know that you 
tried to get Rouge Dubois tonight but couldn’t be¬ 
cause he’s not in town; in fact, nobody knows 
whether the man is living or dead; for my part I 
believe he’s dead.” 

Again Wayne sensed a feeling of relief. At least, 
if Black were speaking the truth, Nanette Dubois 
and her parent had played no treachery. She had 
kept the fact from Black that her father was at 
home, and she had failed to disclose the information 
that she herself was to guide Wayne down the river. 
Wayne’s confidence in Nanette rose several degrees; 
she was not only a woman of few words but she 
could keep things to herself, a rare virtue. 

Black was still talking. ‘‘Why not come in with 
us? I’ll guarantee you won’t lose; it’s only men 
who fight the Black-Downey interests that lose. We 
look out for our friends and a man of your caliber 
could prove himself mighty useful in our plans.” 

Wayne had a notion to try and draw the man out. 
He had already pocketed his automatic. Since Black 
was not armed, he felt able to cope with him un¬ 
aided by any firearm, and to still keep him covered 


THE TABLES TURN 


lOI 


seemed to Yeatman cowardly, like the cheap tactics 
of a common footpad, and he was not that. 

“Well, what you got?^^ he asked in a more con¬ 
ciliatory tone. “If you want me to sit in on your 
game, you’ll have to lay your cards flat on the table 
so I can see them—all. I don’t play otherwise.” 

“You can’t expect me to do quite that at this 
stage of the proceedings,” Black temporized. “But 
this I will tell you: everybody knows, of course, that 
there’s copper up in the Big Loon Lake country; I 
have an idea there’s more than anybody else thinks. 
But even that wouldn’t amount to much without 
some practical way of getting the metal out to mar¬ 
ket, which, at present, there isn’t.” 

Wayne never shifted his eyes for the fraction of 
a second from Black’s face. So far the man had 
appeared to speak frankly; Wayne was waiting for 
the lie; he felt sure it would come. 

“Now I think I’ve doped out a plan for getting 
the metal out to the market cheaply and speedily— 
if it’s there,” went on Black, “and if I can secure 
control of enough land to make it worth our while. 
You have turned down my money offer. I’ll better 
it, take you in with us. I’ll give you twenty-five 
thousand cash, pay you a yearly salary of five thou¬ 
sand for four years, and let you cut in for a ten 
per cent share on any profits we make from your sec- 


102 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


tion, provided of course that your claim to the 
Chovard tract proves clear.” 

^^That all?” asked Wayne. 

He had found the lie. Black’s shifty eyes had told 
him. And now, in the back recesses of Wayne Yeat- 
man’s brain was an idea, as yet somewhat dim and 
indefinite, of the big affair the Black-Downey inter¬ 
ests were trying to pull off, and it wasn’t at all what 
it looked to be on the face of things. 

‘^That’s all,” answered Black. “I’ll put every¬ 
thing down in a contract, and as a business man, 
let me assure you that you’ll live many years be¬ 
fore you’ll find anybody willing to make as gen¬ 
erous an offer. Come now, you and I can work 
together, Yeatman; let’s swing into it.” 

Wayne’s jaw set. “Black,” he said, “you’ve tried 
twice to double cross me. Once would have been 
aplenty; I never again trust a man that attempts 
to do me; they never reform, and my particular 
opinion of you isn’t fit for type or tongue. Good¬ 
night.” 

He had turned to go away when, with a snarl of 
defeated purpose. Black leaped toward him. 

“You fool,” he cried. “I’ll-” 

Black’s sentence was never finished. Every splen¬ 
did muscle in Wayne Yeatman’s body had been pre¬ 
pared for just such an outcome as this; twenty years 



THE TABLES TURN 


103 

with animal treachery had taught him that a half 
whipped beast can never be trusted. 

His right fist crashed on the point of Black^s jaw 
like the mighty blow of a twenty pound sledge ham¬ 
mer. The man^s knees caved, his hips caved, his 
head and arms drooped and he crumpled to the 
earth. Wayne leaned over him. Then: 

‘‘Here’s trouble; if the man isn’t dead he’s blamed 
near it. It would have been bad enough had he got 
me for holdup; now it will be a hundred times 
worse if he dies.” 

Yeatman canvassed the possibilities. Left here, 
Black’s chances were slim and Wayne had no desire 
to stand trial for manslaughter. He remembered 
having passed a doctor’s sign a short distance from 
the Hotel Marquette. Lifting Black in his arms, 
he started off with him. 

It required some time and effort to rouse the 
physician; but when it was finally accomplished, he 
proved to be an individual of common sense and 
with considerable experience in mending the in¬ 
juries of river men prone to frequent drunken brawls. 
Wayne gave him Black’s name and a fictitious one 
as his own, told the doctor that Black had been 
knocked out in a free fight in a “blind tiger” and 
left, promising to call on the following day and 
ascertain how the patient was getting on. 


104 THE WOMAN TAMER 

Once outside, he hurried toward the Hotel Mar¬ 
quette and dispatched a call to Cecile Dennison^s 
room, saying that he must talk with her at once re¬ 
garding a very important matter. 

It was all of twenty minutes before she sent down 
word that she would see him, and Wayne’s patience 
had become well nigh exhausted. 

“Had to powder that blamed nose of hers about 
a half dozen times,* I suppose,” he thought as he took 
the stairs three steps at a time. 

She met him in the hallway just outside her room, 
dressed in a becoming negligee. She had not only 
powdered her nose but she had taken time to care¬ 
fully arrange that splendid flame-of-gold hair. She 
did not believe one ought to meet anyone, least of 
all a man, unless one looked one’s best. Little 
did she realize what was in store for her during the 
coming days! 

“What’s happened?” she gasped as she saw him. 
“Your face is as pale as paper.” 

“Hell, that’s what’s happened,” he barked, and 
pushed open the door to her room. “Come in and 
I’ll tell you about it.” 

She drew back with an air of ruffled dignity. 

“I can’t see you in there; you’ll have to tell me 
out here.” 

He whirled on her with beetling brows. “Don’t 


THE TABLES TURN 


105 


be a silly fool; IVe traveled most of my life in sleep¬ 
ing cars, and bedrooms aren’t any treat to me. I 
don’t want every lodger in the place listening to what 
I say. We’ll leave the door open.” 

She stepped inside, folding the negligee closer 
about her slender form, watching his every move¬ 
ment with great staring eyes, like a frightened deer. 

“Cut out the baby-doll business and act like a 
woman,” he ordered impatiently. “I’m not going to 
beat you—yet.” 

“Oh, I’m not afraid—if you’re sober,” she said. 

“I’m sober, all right,” he answered. “But I’m 
in a box, and we’ve got to get out of this town as 
quick as God and our own legs will let us; or at 
least, I have; you can come or not as you please.” 

In a few breathless, blurting sentences, he told 
her of having engaged Rouge Dubois’ daughter to 
take them down the river, of the holdup, of his re¬ 
gaining the precious money belt and of having 
knocked Black out. 

“Now I’ve got to vanish or Black, if he pulls 
through, may have me jailed,” he concluded. “If 
you still hanker to visit the Big Loon Lake country, 
and don’t mind traveling with a prospective jail bird, 
we can be out of here inside of an hour. Once on 
the river, there’s small chance of Black’s starting 


io6 THE WOMAN TAMER 

the law after me; he’s in too much shady business 
in that country himself.” 

As he finished, she was shivering, her teeth chat¬ 
tering like teacups in a tempest. 

“What’s the matter, are you cold?” he snapped 
as she made no comment on the situation, only 
shivered and stared at him. 

“Blamed kid!” he thought. “Why haven’t I got 
horse sense enough to tell her to go to hell and put 
all my energy into looking after my own muttons?” 

“No, I’m not cold,” she finally managed to stam¬ 
mer. “But I’m rather frightened; suppose Black 
dies?” 

He hesitated, evaded her eyes. Then: 

“Well, it’s murder. But I told you in the be¬ 
ginning that this he-man’s country was no place for 
a woman. Sudden death is as common up here as 
crackers and cheese. If you don’t want to come, 
now’s your opportunity to back out, for, take my 
word for it, this is only a mild sample of what you 
are likely to meet before you travel all the way 
through this place called Hell’s Doorway.” 

Calmer now, she studied him a moment with half 
closed eyes and tightening lips. Then: 

“You think I’m a quitter, don’t you? Well, 
I’m not. You can’t lead where I won’t follow. I’ll 
be ready to go down the river when you are.” 


THE TABLES TURN 


107 


^‘All right/’ he said, aware of a sudden feeling 
of admiration for her courage—if it was real. ‘‘I’ll 
arrange with Nanette Dubois and come back here 
for you as soon as I can.” 

About to close the door behind him, he turned and 
added with a frown: 

“But remember this, kid: you’re going of your 
own free will and choice; if you happen to get hurt 
later, don’t whine, and don’t blame me.” 

“You haven’t heard me whine yet,” was her only 


answer. 


CHAPTER X 


THE RIVER 

Leaving the Hotel Marquette, Wayne Yeatman 
hurried toward the home of Rouge Dubois. Would 
Nanette be willing to start down the river at once, 
and could she get ready, were the questions that 
troubled him now. 

Arriving at the Dubois home, Wayne hammered 
on the door for fifteen minutes without being able 
to arouse anyone. There were no lights and the 
place seemed to be deserted. 

He went to the rear, found another door and be¬ 
gan to hammer on that. There was no response. 

^‘Either they sleep mighty sound or everybody has 
quit the place,” he concluded. 

He mentally reviewed the layout of the inside 
of the building, trying to form a picture that would 
indicate where the room was located in which he 
had interviewed Dubois, thinking it might be pos¬ 
sible that the man was there alone and thus un¬ 
able, with his injured limb, to come to the door. 
Wayne knew he had walked along a hall, turned a 

io8 


THE RIVER 


109 

corner and arrived at the room where Dubois lay 
on a bed; back of the bed had been a window. 

This room, he decided, was on the south side of 
the building. He went around there and found three 
curtained windows, waist high above the ground. 
He rapped on two of them in succession and spoke 
Dubois’ name, but failed to produce a response. 
The third venture proved more fruitful. He was 
sure he heard someone stir inside, the creaking of a 
bed. 

^Tt’s Yeatman,” he called. 

The window curtain was raised an inch or two 
and a pair of eyes peered out. Then the window 
was lifted and a voice spoke, impatiently. 

“Well, m’sieu, what do you want?” 

It was Nanette. Covered with confusion, Wayne 
could only stammer. 

“I beg your pardon; I thought I was rapping on 
the window of your father’s room. I wished to speak 
with him.” 

“My father has been carried away,” she answered. 
“There was too much interest in the house; we 
thought it best that he should rest—elsewhere, I 
am alone.” 

Queer, thought Wayne, that they should cart off 
a man with a broken leg in the middle of the night. 
Why was Rouge Dubois so reluctant to have people 



no 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


know that he was at home? Here was a tantalizing 
mystery to which Wayne could find no clew. 

“All right,” he said. “You’ll do. Can you get 
ready to start down the river at once?” 

“At once, m’sieu?” she repeated. “The plan was 
for seven o’clock.” 

“I know, I know,” he answered impatiently. “But 
events have occurred that make it necessary to 
start immediately. I’ve got into a little trouble.” 

“Trouble?” she questioned, rather doubtfully. 

“Why not tell her,” he thought. “She’ll discover 
it later anyway.” 

He explained the matter of the holdup and his 
fight with Black. He could see little of Nanette save 
her eyes, and once, while he talked, he heard her 
draw a quick, gasping breath, but, as he finished, 
she threw the window up and leaned forward, her 
bosom and arms bare. 

“M’sieu, come closer,” she said, and laid one hand 
on his shoulder, her dark eyes glowing as they stared 
into his, and she said caressingly: 

“You only knocked Bill Black senseless; why, 
m’sieu, did you not kill him? Had you killed 
him I would go with you, not only to Big Loon Lake, 

but to the ends of the earth. While he lives I-” 

she caught herself and said no more. 

Wa3me was both startled and taken aback. “What 



THE RIVER 


III 


now have I stumbled on?” he thought. ^‘Evidently 
this Nanette Dubois has even less love for Black 
than has her parent,” 

Aloud he said: ‘^Never mind the ends of the 
earth; how soon can you get ready to start with 
me down the river?” 

“In thirty minutes, m’sieu, I shall be ready,” she 
answered briskly. “Do you know where the Hud¬ 
son’s Bay storage house is?” 

He nodded. 

“There is a small red painted building a little 
way this side of it,” she went on, “which my 
father owns. The canoes and camp goods are there. 
Bring also your things there and we shall start.” 

The window was lowered and Wayne left to re¬ 
turn to the Hotel Marquette. He found Cecile Den¬ 
nison dressed in her outing clothes, ready and wait¬ 
ing for him in the hotel office. It required but a 
few moments to secure his own things and then they 
hurried toward the water front. 

Nanette was there before them. Two canoes were 
in the river, a large one and a small one. Into 
the smaller canoe she was busy tossing bags of food 
and duffle. She arose from leaning over adjusting 
several packages to suit her as they approached. 

She was hatless, her abundant dark hair loosely 
bound about her head in flat braids with a puff 


II2 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


over each ear, for the most recently then prevail¬ 
ing woman^s style of hairdressing had penetrated 
even thus far into the north. Her dress was a short 
skirt with a blouse of dark brown Shackelton cloth 
and she wore high tan Hudson’s Bay pacs reaching 
to her knees. The blouse, open at her throat, dis¬ 
closed a columnar neck of splendid proportions and 
her perfect skin glowed w^armly with the vigor of 
her recent exertions. She was superbly muscled, a 
beautiful creature, an ideal daughter of the open 
spaces. Dressed in an evening gown she would have 
appeared wholly out of her element, a peasant; 
dressed as she was now, with the softly shining river 
at her back, she was ravishing, a woman of un- 
dubitably flashing physical charm, a charm that 
Cecile Dennison sensed the moment their eyes met. 
This woman, or girl, as she was aware at once, was 
the direct antithesis of herself, and, herself, she 
could not repress a softly uttered sigh of admira¬ 
tion—and envy—as Wayne made them known to 
one another. 

The contrast, as they stood for a moment ex¬ 
changing commonplaces, was arresting; it was like 
placing beside each other a transparently white and 
delicate hothouse tea rose and a wildly luxuriant 
and gorgeous field-poppy. And each envied the 
other her appearance. Nanette would have given 


THE RIVER 


113 

worlds could she have looked like this beautifully 
pale city girl; while Cecile Dennison’s thought was: 

“What a glorious creature I Diana? No, a wood 
nymph. What exquisite limbs and skin! ” 

Impatient to get agoing down the river, Wayne 
broke into their talk. “What can I do to help, 
Nanette? Waiting here is wasting time.” 

Nanette turned and met his glance calmly. Noth¬ 
ing seemed to excite her; her features, as always, 
were an impassive mask, only the eyes animate; she 
seemed, for the first moment, to realize his presence. 

“Place your luggage there, m’sieu, and we shall 
start,” she said, indicating a vacant spot in the rear 
canoe that was fastened to the larger by a towing 
line. “I told you I would be ready in thirty minutes; 
it is not that yet.” 

“First woman I ever knew that did beat her own 
estimate,” muttered Wayne beneath his breath as 
he stowed the suit-cases in the rear canoe and 
watched Nanette skillfully rope them so that there 
would be no danger of their being lost, even should 
the craft, which was built with air pockets on each 
side, capsize. 

A few moments later and they were out in the 
middle of the silent, faintly rippled stream. Nanette 
sat in the stern of the first canoe, wielding her paddle 
with an easy stroke that seemed to shoot them ahead 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


114 

with scarcely an effort. Wayne sat in the bow; 
Cecile Dennison in the middle. Behind them the 
dawn was just beginning to break, faint streaks of 
wispy gray light far down on the horizon. 

Cecile Dennison was all eyes. To her this was 
a new world they were entering, a world of un¬ 
told wonders, of what surprises she could scarce im¬ 
agine. The early morning air was crisply cool, 
stimulating; she drank in great gusts of it and was 
immensely glad that she was alive; the blood rac¬ 
ing through her veins made her body glow and for 
almost the first time in her sheltered life she was 
overcome by a sense of well-being so exquisite, so in¬ 
finitely complete that it gave her the feeling of being 
born anew. 

So far north at this season there was no real dark¬ 
ness at any time during the night, and it was already 
so light, that peculiar clear light of the country, 
that objects could be distinguished long distances 
away. There were no sounds save the soft swish- 
swish of Nanette’s paddle and the steady lap and 
brush of the water cut by the bow of each canoe. 
All about were the damp, sweetly penetrating odors 
of the morning, of pines beginning to shed their 
needles, of wakening cedar and spruce, box and 
wintergreen; no Paris perjumaire has yet produced 
anything one-half so delightfully refreshing. 


THE RIVER 


115 

Wayne, in the bow, occasionally took several 
strokes with a paddle he had found there; he had, 
however, done this but a few times when Nanette 
called to him: 

^^Non, non, m’sieu, it is not necessary. That 
paddle is only to keep the canoe straight when we 
arrive at an angry spot in old lady Marquette. I 
will teach you later.” 

Going down with the current as they were, even 
Nanette^s paddling was, at present, not really 
needed; later, they would come to places in the 
stream where every last ounce of muscular power 
that was packed in her splendid body would have 
to be called into play. 

Finally they halted and Nanette cooked breakfast 
with rare deftness, Cecile Dennison watching her 
with jealous eyes. Bacon and scrambled eggs, cof¬ 
fee and crusty bread; had any meal on earth ever 
tasted sweeter? she thought. Even Wayne, accus¬ 
tomed as he was to a lifetime of outdoor eating in 
all sorts of weather, found a world of difference be¬ 
tween the skillful and savory cookery of Nanette 
Dubois and the hastily prepared meals served by 
men cooks with tent shows. 

They started on again and traveled until dusk, 
knowing no sign of weariness, no lack of zest for 
the glorious river panorama that hourly unfolded 


ii6 THE WOMAN TAMER 

before them, always something new, some fresh vista 
opening to eyes that drank it in with exquisite 
pleasure. Now the river banks were high and steep, 
tier on tier of rain gullied rock, silver gray, copper, 
or perhaps burnt umber, topped with towering trees 
of darkly matted green. Now the banks were low 
and stretched away to infinite distances of lighter 
green that tumbled and rollicked in easy rises and 
deep tundras like a restless sea that had suddenly 
paused to gaze aloft and wonder at the glory of 
God’s sky of deepest, rarest blue; Canada’s blue, a 
color that makes even Switzerland’s blue seem pale 
and washed. 

No one talked; even Nanette, to whom all this 
was an old, old story, as old as herself, found such 
joy in the looking that mere words would have 
seemed to mar a perfect dream. 

There were no mosquitoes, no flies in mid-stream, 
nothing to disturb them save possible memory of 
what had passed, or anxiety for the future. 

Came dusk and they camped. Wayne tried to 
assist Nanette in erecting the two tents but she 
worked so deftly, and he so clumsily, that he soon 
began to feel as if, compared with her, his hands 
were all thumbs. As he sat down on a stump with 
a discouraged air, Nanette gazed at him a little 
scornfully. 


THE RIVER 


117 

“M’sieu/’ she said without pause in her labors, 
‘^this is my work; it is what you are paying me 
for. You do not do it well; you had better de¬ 
sist.” 

“But I feel like a fool, watching you labor while 
I sit and twiddle my fingers.” 

“Then, m’sieu, if you must do something, find 
the ax and cut up some of those down trees,” she 
said more kindly. “We shall need much wood be¬ 
fore morning, for I can see that it is going to be 
cold.” 

Wayne found the ax and started off, thinking: 
“There’ll be war yet between this Nanette Dubois 
and me. I never can stand her bossing.” 

Strangely enough, the instant Wayne was out of 
sight, Nanette turned to Cecile and said: 

“Mam’selle, would you like to help?” 

Cecile, who had been sitting beside the fire, was 
on her feet in an instant, her great eyes shining. 

“If you would only permit me? But I fear I 
shall be even more clumsy than Mr. Yeatman. I 
know absolutely nothing of camp labor; but I do so 
wish to learn.” 

Nanette’s nose flattened scornfully. 

“He is not particularly clumsy, this M’sieu Yeat¬ 
man; but it is well to show a man his place at the 
outset. He is to take his orders from me.” 


ii8 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Cedle shook her head doubtfully. fear you 
have a difficult task before you; he is not one who 
takes orders well.” 

shall show him, then!” answered Nanette con¬ 
fidently. “Though men never acknowledge it, they 
really like to have a woman order them about. It 
makes them feel less responsible. All men are like 
that.” 

“Are they?” said Cecile thoughtfully. “Perhaps, 
but this one has not impressed me as being that 
sort.” 

“This one!” repeated Nanette, her eyes widening. 
“Is the gentleman, then, not mam^selle’s sweet¬ 
heart?” 

“Sweetheart!” exclaimed Cecile laughing. “I 
think not. I only met him yesterday. I was alone, 
coming into a strange country of which, as I realize 
now, I knew absolutely nothing, and he offered to 
look after me. Needing some one to do just that, 
I accepted. It is purely a business arrangement, 
nothing more.” 

“Oh, mam'selle, I did not understand,” said 
Nanette. “He is a handsome devil, this M’sieu 
Yeatman; that scar on his cheek intrigues me; it 
makes him look distinguished, interesting, and his 
queerly scarred hands. I wonder how they be¬ 
came so?” 


THE RIVER 


119 

haven^t the remotest idea,” answered Cecile in¬ 
differently. 

‘^Then mam’selle does not find him interesting?” 
asked Nanette curiously, as they busied themselves 
about the fire preparing supper. 

“Useful, but not particularly interesting,” an¬ 
swered Cecile with an enigmatic smile. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE RAPIDS 

Toward morning^ Wayne Yeatman awoke to find 
that rain was descending on his tent roof in tor¬ 
rents, the wind beginning to blow hard. He got out 
from under a blanket—he had gone to sleep in his 
clothing—and went to the door of the tent. 

In anticipation of just such a possible outcome 
as this heavy rain, Nanette had built the night fire 
beneath the fly of her own and Miss Dennison’s 
tent, a tanalite Baker. Here, backed by a huge pile 
of logs to leeward, it was still burning brightly, 
sending grateful warmth, and some smoke, inside the 
shelter. Wayne, in his one-man hikelite tent, which 
would have been used by Nanette had not Cecile 
Dennison been there, had scorned a fire. 

As he lifted the flap of his own shelter and looked 
out toward the fire in front of the other tent, he 
thought there was no one there. A second glance 
showed him a huddled figure in a black rubber 
poncho, sitting back to the driving rain, poking sticks 
into the blaze. It was Nanette. 


120 


THE RAPIDS 


I2I 


He went toward her and spoke low, so as not to 
arouse Cecile Dennison, should she be asleep. 

suppose, Nanette, this knocks us out of travel¬ 
ing? I’m sorry; I counted on covering a good 
stretch today.” 

Nanette looked up with a start. The firelight 
made her eyes glow in the darkness like burning 
coals. 

‘‘And why, m’sdeu, should this rain stop us?” she 
asked. 

“Won’t this wihd make the river pretty rough?” 

The wind was increasing; he could hear dead 
trees crashing in the forest about them and toward 
the river the firelight was reflected from a thousand 
rain spattered white-caps. To his unpracticed eye, it 
did not look as if a light canoe could possibly live 
in tliat wild surge of water that raced past them. 

“M’sieu speaks truly about the wind making the 
river rough; but were I alone and in a hurry, I 
should chance it, for I have ridden la belle riviere 
when she was much angrier than today. In this 
case, it is, of course, for m’sieu to decide.” 

“I’d like nothing better myself,” he answered, 
glancing toward the stream. “But I don’t even know 
whether the kid can swim or not, and I suppose, since 
she is financing tins trip, she must be considered 
first.” 


122 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


“jM’sieu is very thoughtful,” was Nanette’s only 
reply, a remark that made Wayne switch his glance 
quickly back to her. 

‘‘Does this damned girl imagine I don’t dare try 
the river?” was the first rushing thought for which 
he looked for an answer in the face of Nanette Du¬ 
bois. But that face was as impassive as always. 
With him, her features could be Carnelian marble, 
but they had been animate enough when she talked 
with Cecile Dennison. 

“Oh, well,” he offered, “perhaps it will be calmer 
by the time we are ready to start.” 

“Perhaps,” she answered. “The wind is driving 

north; it will just about catch M’sieu Bill Black’s 

/ 

party at the first rapids.” 

Wayne dropped to a seat beside her; Nanette’s 
manner of speaking had given him an idea. 

“Look here, Nanette,” he said. “It strikes me 
you’re in about as much of a hurry to get up into 
the Big Loon Lake country as I am, what?” 

Nanette waited a moment before answering, tlien: 

“No, m’sieu, had I followed my own inclinations, 
I should, after I knew what you had done to Bill 
Black, have remained at Arleen. But I had given 
m’sieu my word to take him to Big Loon Lake.” 

“But what the devil has the fact of my having 
put Bill Black down for the count got to do with 


THE RAPIDS 


123 


your wanting to remain at Arleen? I thought from 
the way you spoke when I told you about it that 
you hadn’t much love for that man.” 

Nanette whirled toward him, her eyes blazing. 

‘Xove!” she gasped. ‘This is the sort of love 
I have for that M’sieu Bill Black: he may die; 
when he does, I should like to be beside him, I 
should like to watch him fighting for his last breath. 
I should like him to know I was there; it would not 
make his last moments any the happier, I assure you 
of that.” 

As Nanette spoke, she tore violently with one hand 
at the neck of her blouse, as if she herself were 
living through Black’s last moments. Wayne 
watched her, his own eyes shining. As she finished, 
he laid one hand on her arm as he said: 

“You’re a devil. I’ve seen your like many a time 
among my animal pets.” 

At his touch, Nanette’s violent mood appeared to 
soften instantly. She glanced down at his scarred 
hand, then at the record of that deep wound on his 
face. 

“How, m’sieu, did you come by that scar?” she 
asked. “It must have been a terrible injury. Half 
an inch higher and you would have lost one of your 
eyes.” 

“That’s the result of a little scrap with a leopard,’' 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


124 

he answered. ^^A snow leopard—they’re black, not 
white; I don’t know why they call them snow—one 
of the most beautiful, most graceful animals that 
lives. I was trying to train eight of them to per¬ 
form in a steel barred cage. She was Vixen, the 
cleverest, the most beautiful of them all, yet the 
most treacherous; a very devil, and she couldn’t 
stand the whip. I gave her too much of it one day, 
and that’s what she gave me.” 

“M’sieu then is an animal trainer?” she asked. 

‘AVas,” he answered. “I don’t expect to do much 
more of it.” 

“And why?” 

His eyes shifted from her face and stared a mo¬ 
ment into the fire before he answered. Finally: 

“Well, I think I know when to quit. They get you 
finally, are sure to. It’s like aviation; if a man 
flies long enough he’s certain to fall. I quit broke, 
but I didn’t, like most trainers, quit inside the cage.” 

Nanette spoke quickly. “But isn’t that a glorious 
way to go? Myself, I hope some day to die in the 
arms of la belle riviere, old lady Marquette, as my 
father calls her. I love the river; the day she kills 
me I think I shall love her most.” 

“Glorious enough way to go—if that’s the sort 
of glory you like,” answered Wayne. “But it would 


THE RAPIDS 


125 

seem merely foolish to me; wasting my life to 
gratify an animal’s desire for revenge.” 

‘‘That is your philosophy, m’sieu,” said Nanette, 
rising from her seat beside the fire as she saw Cecile 
Dennison stirring inside the open tent. “It is not 
mine. Were I an animal trainer, I should wish to die 
‘in the cage’ as you put it.” 

Nanette handed him the poncho she had been 
wearing. “Put this on, m’sieu,” she said. “I have 
another.” She lowered the front of the Baker tent 
and vanished inside. 

Wayne donned the poncho and went down to the 
river edge. The hurricane, as Nanette had prophe¬ 
sied, had seemed to blow itself off to the north; there 
were only occasional tempestuous gusts now, but the 
rain was still falling in torrents. So much pelting 
rain helped to quiet the river, but it looked as if it 
would still be rather uncomfortable traveling in an 
open canoe. 

He had been watching the water but a few mo¬ 
ments when he heard Cecile Dennison’s voice calling 
behind him. He turned and saw her coming. Like 
himself, she was clothed in a long poncho, and she 
wore a sou’wester, rakishly tilted from her face. 
For the first time since they had met, Wayne was 
aware of a faint spot of color in her cheeks and a 
more natural carmine to her lips. He was .struck 


126 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


by the change it made in her appearance; how much 
less boyish and more womanly she looked. 

She was laughing as she fought the wind and 
the cool rain beat in her face; running a few steps, 
halting and then coming on again, an entrancing 
figure in the gray morning light. 

^Tsn’t this a gorgeous storm?” she called. “And 
the river, it’s even more beautiful than under the 
sun; it’s like something gone wild.” 

“Pretty wild,” he said. “Don’t suppose you’ll 
dare risk going on today? I’m sorry, hoped we 
wouldn’t lose any time.” 

“Risk it!” she repeated. “I wouldn’t miss canoe 
riding through this rain for worlds. It will be 
glorious. I love a beating storm that tosses one 
about; it’s fun, fighting back.” 

“Can you swim?” he asked rather anxiously. 

It was queer, the protective feeling toward her 
that was beginning to possess him, since he had de¬ 
cided to look out for her as far as Big Loon Lake. 
Never before had he felt in this way toward any¬ 
body. 

“I can swim,” she answered with a confident toss 
of her head. “It’s my one athletic accomplishment. 
My father taught me when I was quite young; threw 
me out into the water; I had to swim—or thought 
I had to, which was the same—and I did, without 


THE RAPIDS 


127 

previous training. That may seem a cruel way to 
be taught, but it was the right way with me, as 
my father knew.’’ 

Wayne nodded. ‘T understand—and it would be 
better if more children were taught things in that 
way, by being made to do them instead of bombard¬ 
ing their brains with theories. It’s nature’s way, 
the way all animals teach their young.” 

“You understand animals, don’t you?” she said. 
“I woke up just as you were explaining to Nanette 
about your profession and that leopard. Vixen.” 

Wayne could hardly wait for her to finish. 

“Understand animals!” he exploded derisively. 
“Not me, nor anybody else, no matter how long 
you live with them. They’re like women; when you 
do think you understand them, that’s the time to 
watch out. You’re due for a surprise, perhaps a 
painful one. In my conceit I thought I was be¬ 
ginning to understand Vixen; you can see how far 
v/rong I was; she got me the first time my guard 
was down.” 

“Did you succeed in breaking her spirit?” 

“No,” he answered unsuspectingly. “I was so 
mad when she turned on me that I choked her to 
death before they could drag me out of the cage.” 

Cecile studied his face thoughtfully a moment. 
Then, as she turned back toward the tent: 


128 THE WOMAN TAMER 

“You couldn’t stand the whip any better than she, 
could you?” 

He stared after her, hardly knowing whether to 
get mad or not. Finally: 

“Isn’t that the woman of it for you? What does 
she mean; doesn’t she know that it had to be me 
or that leopard? I suppose she thinks that I ought 
to have knuckled under and let Vixen run the cage 
thereafter. Fat chance I’d had with that cat-devil 
after she’d once got a taste of my blood. You can’t 
break a cat animal’s spirit as you can an elephant’s; 
but it wouldn’t be any use to tell her that; she’s a 
woman. Women are ruled by sympathy, not by 

t 

common sense—my idea is some of ’em haven’t got 
any common sense.” 

In an hour they had breakfasted, struck the tents 
and were again on their way. The water was rough, 
but Nanette was remarkably skillful in handling a 
canoe and got them out of every difficulty, though 
oftentimes it seemed to be only by a miracle. 

Before starting, Nanette had given Wayne a few 
instructions in how to manage a bow paddle. 

“At ten o’clock we shall work the Paradise Rapids 
—if they are not too bad today—five hours later, 
the second. Kicking Mule,” she said. “And then, 
m’sieu, you must help. But please remember this: 


THE RAPIDS 


129 


do only what I tell you; nothing more, or you may 
throw us all out into the water.’’ 

Traveling with an animal show, Wayne, as do 
all followers of the big tops, had dreaded rainy days 
as he might the plague. Everything one touched 
was wet; the ground under foot churned to a sticky, 
clinging mud; it was either cold or it was uncom¬ 
fortably muggy, and there was nothing to do but 
sit in a soggy, dripping tent and play poker, listen 
to Rabelaisian stories, or smoke. And there had 
always been more or less trouble with the animals 
in such weather; they were fretful, sulky, and diffi¬ 
cult to manage. 

But now, racing down the turbulent Marquette at 
express speed through a driving rain, was a joyous 
adventure that exhilarated him tremendously. The 
river banks that flew past them were a beating mist 
of gray-green, the rain fell against the back of his 
rubber poncho as if it were a storm of leaden shot, 
and his face was covered with the cold beads of it, 
yet, inside, he was dry and warm. The hardest task 
he had to perform was to remain perfectly quiet, 
which Nanette had told him he must do if she were 
to manage the canoe. 

^^M’sieu, one cannot guide a canoe with a shifting 
load, not in such water as this,” she had said. 

Herself, she moved only from the waist, swaying 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


130 

lightly above her hips as she took powerful strokes 
with the paddle and watched the water with intent 
eyes. 

Once Wayne turned and looked back toward 
Cecile Dennison. She caught his glance and made 
the motion with her lips of saying: 

^Tsn’t it glorious?’’ 

He could not hear, but he knew what she had 
said; answered, ‘^Glad you like it,” and turned back. 
He knew now, from the tense look on Nanette’s 
face that they were approaching dangerous water. 

Suddenly they entered a cleft gorge, turned a bend 
in the stream, and Wayne’s heart went down into his 
boots. 

^‘Great hokum!” he thought as he glanced ahead. 
^We never can make that. Nanette must be cuckoo; 
we ought to have portaged.” 

He did not dare turn; he didn’t dare move; he 
could only stare ahead at a wild, boiling swirl of 
water that looked as if it could crumple a boat of 
steel. There were milky-green whirlpools every¬ 
where that there were not ugly up-jutting rocks, 
some of them knife sharp. Nowhere between the 
high banks was there a bit of calm surface, no single 
spot that did not race tearingly about as if old lady 
Marquette had indeed gone daft with rage. 

Abruptly, Nanette shot the canoe in toward the 


THE RAPIDS 131 

bank and caught at a single overhanging tree with 
one arm. 

“The girl has got sense/' he thought. “She's go¬ 
ing to portage." 

But no; Nanette had no idea of portaging; it 
would have meant a four mile detour; with their 
loads, almost a full day's task. She was merely 
unfastening the towing line of the rear canoe, tying 
it to the tree. Alone, she could work her way along 
the river bank, come back and get it. To have 
towed its unwieldy bulk through would be a serious 
handicap to them. She was too river-wise to at¬ 
tempt it. 

A moment later and they were again out in the 
middle of the stream, the canoe, released of the 
towed craft, was in the first rush of Paradise Rapids. 
No human power could turn them back now, and it 
was almost a half mile to even comparatively calm 
water. 

The canoe dipped and bowed, acted as if it in¬ 
tended to turn somersaults, was beaten and banged 
at right and left; it seemed to miraculously avoid 
crashing on upjutting rocks by the mere breadth 
of a hair; the whirlpools caught it, tried to whirl it 
like a top in a wild, mad spin; but always Nanette 
was able to avoid the danger that meant almost 
certain death. 


132 THE WOMAN TAMER 

The skill of French-Canadian river men seems 
at times to be almost super-human, yet Nanette 
could have given most of them a sizable handi¬ 
cap and beat them easily. She had handled a paddle 
ever since her tiny fingers were long enough to 
grasp it. Like an expert billiardist, she knew pre¬ 
cisely when and how to deliver the unerring stroke 
that would accomplish the end she desired, and, 
what is more, she had a heart of steel and was 
familiar with every ripple on old lady Marquette^s 
bosom. 

There had seemed to Wayne no possible way 
through that tremendous surge of boiling water, 
but somehow, somewhere, Nanette found one. They 
left the final whirlpool as if shot into the air from 
a mighty cannon, the bow of the canoe struck the 
surface with a thunderous slap and they were in 
smoother water. 

As Nanette skillfully avoided a last rock, he 
glanced down at its menacing surface and saw some¬ 
thing beneath that startled him; the pasty white 
face of a man whose clothing had caught on an up- 
jutting point.' 

It was Giuseppi, the lad of the knife. He was 
dead, but his limbs, twisted this way and that by 
the racing river, made it seem as if he were still 


THE RAPIDS 


133 

struggling with grim desperation, fighting to free 
himself. 

‘^Don^t see how any of Black’s heavily loaded rafts 
could navigate these rapids,” he thought. ‘T’ll bet 
there’s more than Giuseppi made their final bow 
here.” 

He turned to assure himself that Cecile Denni¬ 
son was all right, caught one glance from two star¬ 
ing eyes set in a milk-white face from which there 
trickled a stream of blood, and then saw her lurch 
forward in a faint. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WHIP 

^‘Knew it!^^ muttered Wayne as Cecile crumpled 
up in the bottom of the canoe. ‘‘One little bump 
puts her out of business.” 

Somewhere as they were banged about in the 
rapids, she had received a glancing blow on her fore¬ 
head, and it was from this the blood came, but he 
saw at once that it was only a superficial affair. 

He shouted to Nanette. 

“All right, m’sieu,” she answered. “We will make 
the bank.” 

Wayne leaped out, pulled the canoe up on a little 
shelving, sandy beach scarcely three feet wide, lifted 
Cecile Dennison in his arms, laid her on the sand 
and began to wash the blood from her face and chafe 
her hands. 

“The damned kid,” he thought. “If she wilts 
like this at the first rapids, what will she do at the 
next?” 

Cecile opened her eyes. 

“I must have fainted,” she said dazedly. “It was 

stupid of me, but I^d never been through anything 

134 


THE WHIP 


135 

like that before.” She sighed. “It was awful, 
wasn’t it? And that dead man! I thought we 
should never get out.” 

“Awful!” he exploded indignantly. “Great 
hokum, girl, that was nothing! It was only the 
first; we’ve got a half dozen more to navigate be¬ 
fore we reach Fort Carillon; all as bad, if not worse 
than that. How you expect you’re ever going to get 
through if you faint at every little thing?” 

Nanette pushed him aside. “That is no way to 
talk,” she said. “Mam’selle has a privilege to faint 
if she wishes, I think. I fainted myself in the Kick¬ 
ing Mule rapids the first time I worked them with 
my father. Every one must have their baptism of 
blood.” 

Cecile looked her gratitude, but in her eyes was a 
doubt. She had just faced death, a grisly death that 
had held out actual clutching fingers, fingers that 
she could see and feel, and she didn’t want to die. 

Then, as she caught the half shadowed scorn in 
Wayne Yeatman’s eyes, something overcame her, a 
feeling she had never experienced before; intense 
anger, resentment and the desire to strike, to beat 
this brute who was sneering at her, a woman, because 
she had not shown the fortitude in passing through 
their recent danger that he, a man, had. 

She was ready to cry with vexation because she 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


136 

couldn’t strike him. Then her repressed anger bred 
a certain grim courage, a mad desire to show him 
that she was not the soft kid he thought her. 

Nanette’s voice broke in upon her train of 
thought. 

“Now that mam’selle has recovered herself, I 
must return and bring through the loaded canoe; 
then we will go on again.” 

Cecile looked up with sudden determination. 
“You are going back to pilot the second canoe 
through the rapids?” 

Nanette smiled. “Of course, mam’selle; you did 
not suppose I intended leaving it there?” 

“Then I’m going with you, if I may?” answered 
Cecile, rising to her feet. 

Nanette looked all the astonishment she felt. “But 
that, mam’selle, is foolish,” she said. “You have 
passed through once; why tempt fate again?” 

“Because I want to,” was Cecile’s only answer. 

Nanette shrugged expressive shoulders. “Of 
course, if mam’selle wishes.” 

She started back along the narrow bank that, in 
long stretches, left only room for a single foothold 
beside the high shelving walls of gray rock to which 
she had to cling with all ten fingers or fall into the 
rapids. 

Cecile turned toward Wayne and shot him a with- 


THE WHIP 


137 

ering glance. ‘‘Damn you!” she said, and followed 
Nanette. 

Standing beside the river, he watched the two of 
them navigate Paradise Rapids the second time. At 
first, he saw the canoe only as a dot a half mile away, 
tossed here and there on the foaming water, every 
second in danger of annihilation. A score of times 
his heart choked his throat, for he was certain they 
were gone. It had been thrilling, his own thunder¬ 
ing ride through the rapids; it was doubly so now 
to watch them, for their danger seemed more actual 
than had his own. 

As they came nearer, he could pick out Cecile 
Dennison^s slight figure seated in the bow, her tense 
fingers clutching the sides, her head held high, her 
jaws grimly set as they shot through the wild water 
and the driving rain. 

Something of the tremendous battle she was wag¬ 
ing penetrated to him; he found it impossible to 
withhold his admiration. 

“She’s scared blue,” he thought. “Yet she won’t 
give in to it. She’s not fighting the river; she’s 
fighting herself, the self that turns coward at the 
thought of death. The blamed kid’s got the stuff 
in her; she’s got the stuff!” 

He saw her steel herself to glance a second time 
at the grotesquely twisting form of drowned 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


138 

Giuseppi, and was afraid she would faint again as her 
eyes closed to blot out the grisly sight. Then, as 
her sagging shoulders straightened and her head 
went up, he knew she had won, had at last mastered 
her fear. 

A few moments later the two canoes were again 
moving down a stream that, after the rapids, seemed 
comparatively quiet. After a time the rain ceased, 
but there was no sun. Just before they halted for 
lunch, they passed a second and then a third body, 
both Italians, tangled in the low growth of bush 
that lined the bank. 

^‘M’sieu Black’s rafts must have had bad luck at 
Paradise Rapids,” said Nanette as she _started a fire 

\ 

to cook coffee. ^Tt is not strange; several of the 
guides he hired had not traversed old lady Mar¬ 
quette more than twice; and that in canoes. With 
a raft it is another story.” 

Wayne wondered if Nanette were saying this to 
reassure Cecile, whose face had gone white at sight 
of the bodies, or if she had spoken in good faith. 
Himself, he had supposed shooting the rapids in a 
raft would be the safest, if one could only manage 
to hang on. 

The lunch nearly through, he knew that Nanette’s 
surmise had been at least half correct. They were 
still eating when they heard some one crashing 


THE WHIP 


139 

through the bush at their back, and, a moment later, 
a half clothed Cree Indian with staring, frightened 
eyes burst out. He wore only trousers, mucklucks, 
and a slouch hat, and there was a wound in his head 
covered with dried blood. 

As he saw them, he half halted, as if in doubt, 
then recognized Nanette and came toward the fire. 
Nanette arose and he began jabbering to her in a 
polyglot of Cree, English, and French, frequently 
pointing down the river with excited gestures. 

Finally Nanette turned to Wayne, her face 
anxious. 

^‘He says the Italians have mutinied and over¬ 
come the guides. Twelve of the Italians—he thinks 
it was twelve, but he can’t count above six—were 
drowned working Paradise Rapids. When they came 
to the Kicking Mule Rapids, they refused to go 
through.” 

“Well, that’s none of our hash, is it?” answered 
Wayne. 

“But this Cree, Tompeter, says they are coming 
back this way and that they’ve killed two white 
men they met and who tried to help free the guides.” 

“Sounds fishy,” said Wayne. “Those wops were 
not armed. I happen to know that Black had every 
man searched for firearms and knives the second 
time before they started. He knew their propensity 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


140 

for it and was afraid they’d get fighting amongst 
themselves.” 

Tompeter, the Cree, broke in on Wayne’s talk. 

“No fight with guns,” he said. “Him fight with 
clubs; worse; crack head. Me no like club fight; 
make sick.” 

Wayne glanced at the Indian scornfully. 

“The poor fish,” he thought. “Afraid of a tap 
from a wooden club.” 

Nanette broke in on his train of thought. 

“Shall we go on, m’sieu?” she asked. 

Wayne looked at Cecile who had been sitting by 
the fire listening. 

“Well?” 

She met his glance with a cold stare. 

“Why do you ask me? As I told you before, I 
have placed myself wholly in your hands. If you 
think it advisable to go on, I shall be quite satisfied.” 

“But that’s leaving the responsibility wholly on 
my shoulders,” he protested vehemently, thinking: 
“Blame these women; they seem to get the best of 
me without an effort when it comes to argument.” 

“Quite so,” she answered and that was all. 

He fidgeted, but could find nothing further to add. 
Turning to Nanette he said: 

“Ask the Indian if the Italians are returning by 
way of the river or by the pack trail.” 


THE WHIP 


141 


The Cree said he did not know. They had started 
back poling the rafts against the current, but he 
judged they would soon find it such difficult work 
that they would abandon that method of transporta¬ 
tion and take to the pack trail, if they could per¬ 
suade their guides to show them the way. 

‘^All right,’’ said Wayne. “We’ll keep to the river 
and go on. If we meet the Italians—but there’s 
no use in crossing that bridge until we come to it.” 

They pushed off the two canoes, the Cree, 
Tompeter, watching them with doubtful eyes as if 
he thought them surely insane. As they turned a 
bend he disappeared in the bush. 

The river had become calm, traveling a delight; 
the dense wood growth on each side waving rain 
dripping arms toward them as they sped on. The 
sun had come from behind the clouds and shone 
comfortably, now at one side, now at the other as 
the stream twisted and turned between low hills. 

Once a huge brown bear—hootz—came down to 
the river edge to drink, and Nanette back-paddled 
quietly that they might secure a good view of him. 
Finally he heard them, raised himself on his 
haunches to see better, sniffed the air keenly and 
vanished with many pig-like grunts and cries of 
woof! woof! 

At sight of him Wayne’s nerves had begun to 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


142 

tingle. It brought back all the old glamor of his. 
tent show life. He had no desire to shoot the ani¬ 
mal, but he would have liked to stop and engage 
in a friendly wrestle with the fellow. He felt cer¬ 
tain that he could have handled him, big as he was, 
without suffering any harm himself. 

Abruptly, they rounded a bend in the river, came 
to a narrower part between high banks and found 
it fairly choked with the rafts that had been built 
for Black^s Italians. But there was not a human 
being in sight anywhere. The rafts were wedged 
so close together that there was no chance to paddle 
through the jam. 

As Nanette stopped the canoe Wayne turned back 
toward her. 

“What does this mean?’’ 

‘Tt looks as if M’sieu Black’s Italians have taken 
to the pack trail. We will portage around this jam 
and go on.” 

They had beached the two canoes and finished un¬ 
loading them when a man with white face and wildly 
staring eyes came stumbling down the bank. Nanette 
looked up and recognized him. 

“Hello, Jacques Fordier!” she called. “You look 
scared; what’s the matter?” 

“By gar, matter enough!” he stammered. “You 
know them dam wop we go for guide? What you 


THE WHIP 


143 


theenk they do, Nanette? They try for string me 
up to tree by my wrist because I rafuse to show them 
pack trail. But I get away. Now they string up 
Etienne Paravent because he also rafuse, say he 
guide them to Big Loon Lake but nowhere else.” 

Nanette^s eyes began to blaze. 

‘^And you, Jacques Fordier, you ran off and de¬ 
serted Etienne?” she asked. 

^‘Ran off and lef’ heem?” stuttered Jacques. “I 
should theenk I did. What you suppose? I fight 
feefty—one hondred men? Believe it to me, 
Nanette, I am French-Canadienne, and I lak good 
fight—but I am not damn fool.” 

don’t care if there were two hundred,” stormed 
Nanette. “I wouldn’t desert a friend.” 

She turned to Wayne as she picked up her rifle 
from the canoe. 

‘‘M’sieu,” she said, must wait here. I am 
going to help Etienne.” 

‘‘By gar, eef you go, Nanette, I go too,” said 
Jacques, stung to a recrudescence of courage by 
her attitude. “But I got no gun; I theenk them 
crazy wop she easy get best of us.” 

Cecile Dennison spoke quickly. 

“I have an automatic, and Mr. Yeatman has an¬ 
other. We can all go.” 

Wayne looked at her. “Hadn’t you better keep 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


144 

out of this? YouVe no idea what you may be get¬ 
ting into.” 

^'No, I hadn^t, and I don’t care what I may be 
getting into,” she retorted spiritedly. “I’m going.” 

“All right,” he said. “It’s no skin off my nose.” 

Wayne handed his automatic to Jacques. “You 
take that,” he said. “I’ve something that may be 
more useful with this gang of guineas than a fire¬ 
arm.” 

He began rummaging in his luggage and pulled 
out a long, pliable, braided black snake whip with 
a heavy, lead-loaded butt. It was the only thing 
he had carried away when he left the animal show. 
On scores of occasions the whip had saved his life 
and he felt attached to it, though, at the time, it 
had never occurred to him that it would be of any 
use save as perhaps an ornament for his den, should 
he ever possess a settled home of his own. 

Jacques indicating the direction, they started up 
the bank. As they hurried along, Wayne inquired of 
the guide regarding what had started the trouble 
with the Italians. 

“First rough water we come to, all them wop 
she go crazy,” he answ^ered. “Theenk she all gone 
drown. At Paradise Rapid, some of them wop, 
they grab paddle and poles and try for guide raft 
through himself. 


THE WHIP 


145 

“Sure, they got no chance; we lost 'bout ten. 
When we come to second rapid, Kicking Mule, them 
wop all say they got plenty, thank you, no more 
rapid for them. Jack Trumbell, hees Black boss, he 
say we go through. Then wop say no. They fight. 
She all off! Them wop he win and run things for 
suit herself. They start for pack trail, but when 
we rafuse to show them way they begin for string 
us up by wrist, one at time." 

As Jacques finished his story, they heard a man's 
agonized scream, in the distance, and all broke into 
a run, soon coming within sight through the bush of 
a clearing. 

Surrounding a tree were some fifty of the Italians.. 
Suspended from one of the limbs by his wrists 
was Etienne Para vent, a handsome young French- 
Canadian with curling black hair and pain-tortured 
face. 

More than a dozen of his companions were 
scattered amongst the Italians, but their arms had 
been pinioned and they could give him no help. 

One glance and Wayne saw that bullets fired into 
that crowd would be as likely to kill some of the 
guides as any of the Italians. He turned to Nanette. 

“You folks remain here a minute," he said, “and 
let me see if I can't handle that bunch. It's no 


146 THE WOMAN TAMER 

use to shoot; you’ll be likely to wound or kill some 
of the guides.” 

The Italians, busy with their torturing of Etienne 
Paravent, had not yet seen the four people who had 
emerged from the bush. 

Hatless, his every muscle tensed, Wayne strode 
toward the gathering. His blood raced; the joy of 
battle shone in his burning eyes. Literally thou¬ 
sands of times, and armed only with the whip he 
carried now, he had handled thirty tigers in a 
twenty-foot steel barred enclosure, and he felt as 
little fear of these fifty Italians as he had of the 
tigers. He was rather glad that he possessed no 
firearm, for he thought the Italians had none and 
it made the fight seem fairer. 

He was within a hundred feet of them when they 
became aware of his presence. A dozen, armed with 
clubs, started toward him on the run. 

Bracing his feet, he met them, caught the fore¬ 
most man across the face with a lash of the whip that 
seared as though it had been white hot. With a howl 
of pain the man fell back, nursing his injured cheek. 
Six others, shielding their faces with their arms, 
stooped and attempted to rush in under his whip. 

Useless effort. Wayne knew every tactic that 
could be evolved to beat a blacksnake and how to 
meet it. His whirling, stinging weapon, hitting in 


THE WHIP 


147 


every direction with lightning like rapidity, was 
more effective than a sword, for the fear of it soon 
taught every man to keep his distance as Wayne 
slowly worked his way toward the hanging Etienne, 
who had now fainted with the pain of his torture. 

The Italians had become a sullen, roaring mob, 
first one, then another, beneath the taunts of his 
comrades, attempting to dart in on Wayne, only 
to be met with a dexterous cut of the whip. 

Bringing his weapon down on every available 
point of exposed flesh that came within his reach, 
Wayne drove them in retreat until he stood be¬ 
side the suspended guide. Then came a feat of skill 
that made even the Italians stare. 

Not daring to stop and hunt through his pockets 
for his knife and wait to open it with his teeth, 
Wayne struck with a quick sawing stroke of the whip 
at the rope that suspended Etienne by his wrists. 
As the lash curled about it like a snake, it was 
as quickly snatched away, leaving the rope smoking. 

Again he struck, and again, in swift succession. 
Now the rope burned. A moment later it parted and 
Etienne’s limp form fell to the ground. 


CHAPTER XIII 


ON THE RAFT 

With the fall of the guide, Wayne had expected 
the Italians would rush for him in a body and had 
braced himself to meet them. Instead, his amazed 
ears were greeted with a ringing cheer. 

His feat of burning the rope with a whip lash 
had fired their imaginative temperaments to white 
heat, had made him seem to them a veritable won¬ 
der man. Never had they witnessed anything like 
that; it was a miracle, nothing less. Before they 
had desired only to kill him; now they hailed him 
as a hero. 

The fat padrone stepped out from the crowd and 
bowed with shrugged shoulders and outspread palms. 

^‘Boss,^’ he said, “you beat us the second time; 
we no want a any more troub’ with you.” 

“Going to behave, eh?” scowled Wayne. “Well, 
start in by releasing all those guides youVe got 
trussed up there.” 

A moment, the padrone looked doubtful; Wayne 
began to curl and uncurl his black snake meaningly 
and the padrone grinned. 

148 


ON THE RAFT 


149 

“All right; you the boss/’ he said and shouted an 
order to his men in Italian. A moment more and 
the guides, including Black’s man Trumbell, were 
released. Trumbell came toward Wayne with out- 
thrust hand. 

“By the eternal, I don’t know who you are,” he 
said cordially. “But you’re pure white and you’re 
certainly a wiz with a whip. These blasted Italians 
might have killed us all but for you.” 

Wayne ignored the hand. He had recognized 
Trumbell, having had the man pointed out to him 
on the morning when the Italians were preparing to 
leave Arleen. 

“Work for Bill Black, don’t you?” he asked. 

Trumbell nodded. 

“Well, Bill Black and I are enemies. And any 
friend of his is no friend of mine.” Wayne turned 
away. 

Trumbell followed him, looking dazed. 

“Look here,” he said earnestly. “I work for Bill 
Black, but I’m no pal of his; probably know as little 
about his business as you do. Fie gives me orders 
and pays my wages, that’s all. What you got against 
Black?” 

“Never mind what, but it’s enough,” answered 
Wayne and kept on toward where Nanette and 
Cecile Dennison were waiting. “Better get out of 


150 THE WOMAN TAMER 

here with your men before those Italians lose their 
tempers again.” 

The padrone, who had also been following Wayne, 
trying to gain an opportunity to speak, now found it. 

^^Boss,” he said, ‘‘we tak a no more orders from 
Black or his men. Mebbe you like us work 
for you?” 

Wayne whirled. “What the devil could you do for 
me? I haven’t any work.” 

The padrone shrugged his shoulders. “But, boss, 
we have do something. We got a no job, we got a 
no way to get home. Black’s boss, he no good. We 
think a you fine man.” 

“Black’s boss no good, eh?” answered Wayne. 
“Well, he’s your only salvation, and, if you follow 
my advice, you’ll make your peace with him.” 

The padrone looked at him quizzically. “That a 
right, boss?” 

“Sure is,” answered Wa)me. “If Trumbell and 
the guides go off and leave you, you’ll never find 
your way back; you’ll starve to death, be food for 
the timber wolves, and you’ll lose whatever pay is 
coming to you, even if you should happen to get 
out.” 

The padrone grinned and offered his hand. 

“All right, boss,” he said. “We no want a starve; 
we no want a lose pay.” 


ON THE RAFT 


151 

Wayne rejoined Nanette and Cecile Dennison, 
leaving the padrone in conversation with Trumbell. 
Jacques Fordier had already joined the other guides. 

‘^Come on, let^s break away from this bunch as 
quick as we can,” he said to Nanette. 

^^Do they intend to return to Arleen or are they 
going on to Loon Lake?” she asked as they started 
back toward where they had left the canoes. 

“I don’t know and I don’t give a rap,” he an¬ 
swered. “They can go to the devil for all of me.” 

Nanette looked offended. “That’s all very well 
for those Italians, m’sieu,” she said testily. “But 
many of those guides are my friends; you should not 
speak so of them.” 

“Well, I’ve lost an hour getting your friends out 
of a bad mess,” he snapped. “That’s enough.” 

They emerged from the bush and started to de¬ 
scend the bank toward the river, Wayne in the lead. 
Suddenly a ripping exclamation burst from his lips 
and he tore down toward the river’s edge, mad clear 
through to his spine. 

Their canoes were gone, both of them! The goods 
and camp duffle that had been unloaded prepara¬ 
tory to making the portage around the spot where 
the stream was choked with Black’s rafts, were 
piled up on the beach just as they had left them: but 


no canoes. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


152 

He glanced up the green water as far as the bend; 
there wais nobody in sight: then down. No one 
there, either. Nanette had reached his side. 

“Somebody took the canoes while we were away,” 
he said. “Now what are we going to do?” 

Nanette looked at him coldly. “M^sieu,” she said, 
“would it not be wise to return to Arleen by way 
of the pack trail? There seems to be no luck in 
your journey.” 

Wayne exploded. “Return to Arleen! I wouldn’t 
go back now under any consideration.” 

He glanced at the many rafts that were wedged 
between the banks of the stream as he added: 

“Why can’t we pry loose one of these, pile our 
truck on it and go on in that way?” 

Nanette’s lip curled. “Is m’sieu able to pilot a 
raft through rapids worse than any 'we have worked 
yet?” she asked meaningly. 

He caught her wrist, gripped so tight that she all 
but screamed with the hurt of it. 

“No, I can’t pilot a raft through rapids,” he 
barked. “But you can, and by God, you’re going 
to. You made a bargain to take us to Big Loon 
Lake; you’ve got to keep it, even if I have to drive 
you all the way with this whip.” 

For moments they stared into one another’s eyes. 
Nanette’s were blazing with anger as she tried to 


ON THE RAFT 


153 

draw her arm away and found she could not; that 
he held it firmly. Then she tried to drag her eyes 
away and found she could not do that either; his 
own held hers with a fascination that was ir¬ 
resistible. Cecile Dennison stood a short distance 
apart, a look of scorn on her face. 

Finally, Nanette’s glance fell before Wayne’s and 
she spoke. “M’sieu, you are hurting my wrist.” 

Wayne unloosed his grip; he knew he had won, 
but there was no gleam of triumph in his eyes. It 
had been too easy. Blast the girl, she hadn’t even 
made a fight. He decided there wasn’t half the good 
stuff in Nanette Dubois that he had at first thought. 

‘Wery well, m’sieu,” she said. ^We will go on as 
you say; but the risk is yours.” 

‘T’ll stand the risk if you’ll behave,” said Wayne. 

Choosing one of the best of the rafts, they pro¬ 
ceeded to the business of loading their camp out¬ 
fit, lashing everything down so that there would be 
no danger of a spill. As the Italian party was more 
than a score less in number than when they had left 
Arleen, Wayne had no compunctions regarding tak¬ 
ing one of their rafts. His greatest regret was that, 
traveling on a raft instead of in a canoe, their prog¬ 
ress toward Fort Carillon would be slowed up some¬ 
what. 

A Marquette River raft bears very little resem- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


154 

blance to the broad affair sometimes used on southern 
waters. It is long and narrow, made of seldom more 
than six, and more often four, heavy timbers lashed 
together with cross pieces. It can be paddled or 
poled and properly loaded is, of course, practically 
unsinkable. It can go anywhere that a canoe can 
and in places that are not reachable with a canoe; 
but it is clumsy and slow where the canoe is graceful 
and swift. Still, in drifting water, and handled by 
an expert, it will make excellent progress. Its great¬ 
est drawback is the wash in rough weather, making 
it almost impossible to keep luggage or feet wholly 
dry. 

As they swung out into the current, their positions 
were much the same as they had been in the canoe. 
Wa3me sat in the bow, carrying an iron shod pole 
instead of a paddle; Nanette, in the stern, paddling, 
and Cecile amidships sitting on the goods. Travel¬ 
ing on the raft was more comfortable than in the 
canoe because there was a chance to stretch your 
legs. 

In half an hour they came to Kicking Mule 
Rapids, one of the worst on the Marquette. It was a 
thunderous, bumping ride they made through it, far 
different from slipping along in the canoe. They 
were buffeted this way and that, thoroughly drenched 


ON THE RAFT 


155 


with continual spray from the very start; yet for 
all the discomfort, it was tremendously thrilling. 

Wayne, with his pole, was obliged often to fend 
the raft away from rocks so that, for a good part 
of the journey, he could cling on only with his feet 
and a dozen times he was sure that he would be 
pitched headlong into the raging water about them. 
But Nanette always managed to give the stern a twist 
that saved him. Herself, she rode the tipsy craft 
as naturally and easily as an experienced person 
rides a bicycle, her splendid body instinctively poised 
to meet each bump and jolt before it came. 

Cecile Dennison could cling to the ropes that 
lashed down the load. Twice, as they passed through, 
Wayne got a chance to send a swift glance back 
toward her. 

Somewhere, she had lost her tarn, her flame-of- 
gold hair had become unbound and it was blowing 
in a wild cloud about her head; but her face, as 
the sun shone on it, was ecstatic, her cheeks flushed, 
her eyes glowing. There could be no question but 
that all sense of fear had left her now, that she 
was amazingly savoring every last thrill of the jour¬ 
ney. He found her a wonderfully appealing figure. 

After working Kicking Mule rapids they tied up 
to the bank for dinner and then started again, keep- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


156 

ing on until late that night, when they camped in a 
beautiful grove of spruce. 

Thus passed six uneventful but enjoyable days; 
old lady Marquette was kind, the weather clear, and 
Nanette a splendid cook. 

Cecile Dennison, since the first rapids, had con¬ 
tinued to hold herself somewhat aloof from Wayne, 
but that did not fret him any; in fact, he was 
rather pleased than otherwise. As he saw it, they 
had nothing in common to talk about, so why should 
either bother to make conversation when he, at least, 
appreciated silence. Thus, for most of the time, he 
flocked by himself, enjoyed the river when they were 
aboard the raft, and either slept, ate or explored the 
surrounding country when they were in camp. 

Nanette and Cecile, he noticed, seemed to get on 
amazingly well together, which rather surprised him. 
Nanette was daily instructing Cecile in the mysteries 
of camp cookery and the duties that made outdoor 
living comfortable, work in which she appeared to 
take a great amount of interest. He also could not 
fail to notice that Cecile was changing very rapidly. 
The color was more continually in her cheeks; she 
had entirely forgotten to powder her nose for sev¬ 
eral days, and she was undoubtedly becoming mus- 
cularly more hardened. It showed in her walk and 
manner, in the quick sprightly way she handled her- 


ON THE RAFT 


157 

self. Nanette had taught her how to use the paddle 
and they often changed places now on the raft. 

He was also picking up these same things, but 
doing it unconsciously and without instruction, 
merely by watching Nanette in her duties. Several 
times he tried to assist her, but she seemed to pre¬ 
fer the help of Cecile, which he thought queer. He 
felt ashamed at allowing Nanette, a woman, to do 
so much for him, a great deal of it that was really 
a man^s work; but Nanette appeared to take it all 
as a matter of course and to expect him to spend 
his time in camp loafing beside the fire, smoking, 
though she did permit him to help manage the raft 
when they came to rough places in the river. 

Once, in the evening, as the three of them sat be¬ 
side the fire, Nanette mending a paddle, the handle 
of which she had that day broken, Cecile, after a 
long silence, said to him with a direct glance: 

“You are not enjoying the trip very much, are 
you, Mr. Yeatman?” 

He tossed a half burned cigarette into the blaze. ' 

“What makes you think that?” 

“You are so quiet,” she answered. “I am finding 
something every foot of the way to get enthusiastic 
about; but you are like an Indian: nothing, except 
rapids, appear to stir you.” 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


158 

He pondered a moment, wondering if it were worth 
while explaining to her. Finally: 

suppose I have become something like an In¬ 
dian. You see, IVe lived for many years where 
things were moving all the time, night and day; new 
faces always, a new town every twenty-four hours. 
Movement became an old story to me so long ago, 
IVe forgotten when it was. Everything that comes 
up with a tent show, no matter what, is just a part 
of the day’s work. If we strike mud roads—mus¬ 
kegs, they call ’em up here—and a cage bogs down, 
maybe breaks open, letting loose whatever’s inside, 
it’s apt to be quite a shock to the natives. But not 
to us, because it may occur a dozen times each sea¬ 
son. We simply herd back the lions, or leopards, or 
snakes, whichever it happens to be, and go on getting 
ready for the next show.” 

She nodded. “I think I understand.” 

^‘Maybe you do,” he thought, ‘‘but I doubt it. 
What you expect of a man is that he rave over every¬ 
thing he sees and talk to you all the time, no matter 
whether he has anything to say or not.” 

Then her next remark jolted that idea out of his 
head quicker than it had entered. 

“I often realize myself that there are moments 
when few things can be more eloquent than silence; 
but don’t you think you are missing a lot through 


ON THE RAFT 


159 

allowing your brain to become so calloused to fresh 
impressions?’’ 

‘^Afraid I don’t get you,” he answered with a 
puzzled frown. 

‘‘Well, perhaps this will more clearly indicate 
what I mean,” she said. “I once knew a man, an 
American, who was forced to spend several years in 
a Russian prison. All that time he didn’t see a news¬ 
paper and had no communication with any one out¬ 
side. As far as he was concerned, all the rest of 
the earth except the spot where he was incarcerated, 
might have been wiped off the map and he not have 
known it. 

“Finally he was released. I met him shortly after¬ 
ward. He was the happiest person I ever saw. He 
said his release was like visiting a new world, a world 
he hadn’t realized before. Everything interested 
him; he was all eyes; he was seeing thousands of 
things the existence of which he had scarcely even 
dreamed of before; the mere feel of cool, clean, fresh 
air on his face, a simple thing in itself, was an unend¬ 
ing delight. I’ve been getting something of that, 
too, in the last few days; a tremendous zest for life, 
of everything my eyes see.” 

“Oh, sure,” said Wayne. “But how long will that 
last? I’ll bet you will be as bored as ever with all 
this after a week or so.” 


i6o THE WOMAN TAMER 

she answered. think you are wrong. 
The man I spoke of was released from the Russian 
prison seven years ago; he takes just as keen a de¬ 
light in the world today as he did then. Don’t you 
see, he’s learned to savor every smallest detail of his 
existence, and he can’t ever grow stale again.” 

Wayne stared thoughtfully into tlie fire. He was 
impressed; her idea had got to him, but he wouldn’t 
confess it, simply because it had come from a woman. 

^^Deep stuff, too deep for me, I guess,” he said 
with affected indifference, and began to roll a fresh 
cigarette. 

A dozen times that evening, Wayne covertly 
watched Cecile, studying her where before he had 
been wholly indifferent, not caring whether she was 
near or far, or what she was busying herself about. 
Before, when Nanette and Cecile talked he had 
closed his ears to their chatter; now he found him¬ 
self listening, mentally comparing the two, weighing 
them, but without much definite result. His usual 
conclusion was that they were just a couple more 
damn-fool women that nobody in their right senses 
could understand and it wasn’t any use trying. 

The following day at twilight they came within 
sight of Fort Carillon, the last outpost of civiliza¬ 
tion on the Marquette. There was no fort there 
now, had not been for many years; it was merely 


ON THE RAFT 


i6i 


a fur buying and outfitting station for that vast 
country teeming with game to the north. There was 
a Hudson’s Bay post there and a post owned by a 
great French fur house. Surrounding these and 
bordering the river were a number of roughly built 
houses tenanted by employees of the two firms and 
by men who spent the summer season there, going 
deeper into the north when furs began to be prime. 
There was also a wireless station maintained by the 
Hudson’s Bay people. 

They planned only to stop the night at Fort Caril¬ 
lon, laying in a fresh stock of food, then they would 
keep on two hundred miles farther on the Marquette 
to Dry Wood portage, where they would be obliged 
to take to the pack trail in order to reach the Cho- 
vard tract. 

Nanette beached the raft and they had started up 
toward the Hudson’s Bay post building where a 
British flag was snapping in the evening breeze, 
when a man who had been watching their landing 
hailed them. 

^^Your name Yeatman?” he asked Wayne. “We 
been keeping an eye out all day for a chap answers 
to that name.” 

Wayne hesitated. His first thought was that Black 
was dead and the Royal Northwest Mounted Police 
had sent up word to hold him. 


i 62 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


The man sensed his hesitation and smiled. Plenty 
of people came into the north who were not par¬ 
ticular about having their right names generally 
known and it was considered good manners to re¬ 
spect their desires. 

“It’s a wireless message from the States we got 
for you this morning,” he said reassuringly. 

“My name does happen to be Yeatman,” answered 
Wayne. “Where’s the message?” 

“Up at the post,” answered the man. “Ask the 
factor, Mr. Greenough; he’ll give it to you.” 

Wayne hurried ahead, wondering who could have 
had anything important enough to warrant sending 
a wireless from the United States. So far as he was 
aware, there was not a soul in the States who knew 
where he was: certainly he had left no forwarding 
address, had told no one where he intended going. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FROSTY BLINK 

Wayne found the Hudson’s Bay post trading room 
crowded with people, French-Canadian trappers 
swapping yarns, breeds and Indians with their as¬ 
sorted families, bargaining for supplies before going 
farther north, and a few men who seemed to be 
neither French-Canadians nor Indians, but rather 
well set-up English. The others paid Wayne no at¬ 
tention, but the English eyed him over thoroughly. 

^‘Reckon they’ll know me the next time they see 
me,” he thought, and inquired of one of them re¬ 
garding where he could find Mr. Greenough, the 
factor. The man pointed to a gray-bearded individ¬ 
ual in spectacles on the far side of the room who was 
selling Newhouse traps to two tall Crees. 

^‘That’s him,” said the man and Wayne, as he 
turned away, heard him add under his breath to his 
two companions: “That must be Yeatman.” 

Wayne pushed his way through the throng toward 
the factor and touched him on the arm. 

“My name’s Wayne Yeatman; heard you had a 
wireless for me.” 

163 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


164 

The man glanced up over his spectacles. 

“Yes, believe I have,^’ fished an envelope from 
the pocket of his vest and handed it to Wayne. “No 
charges; it came through paid.’’ 

Wayne tore open the envelope and read the mes¬ 
sage. It was from Tom Porteous. 

“Wayne Yeatman, c/o Hudson’s Bay Co., Fort 
Carillon, Canada. 

“If party has left, please send forward. Have 
loaded to the gunwales with Hampex and start 
back at once. Can you wait for me at Fort Caril¬ 
lon? If not I’ll follow. ‘Big news; don’t sell your 
claim under any consideration. 

“T. Porteous.” 

Wayne looked up from reading through his mes¬ 
sage the second time to find every eye in the room 
fastened on him. It was evident that there was very 
little secrecy about messages received at Fort Caril¬ 
lon, he thought; but, having an excellent poker face, 
he merely refolded the paper, thrust it into his 
pocket and started toward the door to leave. Half 
way there be heard some one call. 

“Hey, Greenough, where’s that guy, Yeatman? 
I want to see him.” 

Wayne turned. A diminutive little fat man with 
grizzled, scraggly beard that indifferently covered 
most of his face save the eyes and a bald head, had 
stepped from a side room and was staring about the 


FROSTY BLINK 


165 

place through half closed lids that were continually 
winking, as if his eyes were either uncommonly sensi¬ 
tive to the light or he had just waked up. He was 
dressed in a loud patterned mackinaw and blue 
corduroy pants thrust into high boots. 

Wayne was half minded to keep on toward the 
door, then thought better of it and approached the 
inquirer. 

“I^m Yeatman; what^s wanted?’’ he asked, not 
very cordially. 

The man peered up into his face a moment; he 
was evidently near-sighted, then burst into a tre¬ 
mendous guffaw as he held forward a huge hand and 
squeaked: 

“I golly, and the dead-spit of your granddaddy, 
too. Just as handsome, just as surly, and the same 
devilish eyes. My name’s Frosty Blink; your 
grandpop, Anthony Wayne, and I were pals in 
ninety-eight. You’re the gritty little tike that 
traipsed off with a tent show because your mom gave 
you a licking, ain’t you? Many a time I’ve heard 
Anthony Wayne chuckle over that. He always said 
he’d remember you in his will, and I hear he has. 
Left you the Chovard tract, didn’t he?” 

Wayne was astounded. How the devil did these 
people come to know so much about his private 


166 THE WOMAN TAMER 

affairs? Had Black sent the news up ahead of him, 
or what? 

For a moment he was angry, then it occurred to 
him that anger wouldn’t help matters any and he 
calmed down. Besides, if this man had known his 
grandfather intimately, it might be possible he also 
knew something about the validity of his ownership 
of the Chovard tract. He grasped the other man’s 
hand. 

“Mr. Blink, I’m glad to meet you,” he said. 
“Any friend of my grandfather’s has, of course, a 
claim on me.” 

The man chuckled. He had a queer habit of em¬ 
phasizing his words strongly, punctuating this em¬ 
phasis with stabs of a fat index finger, and speaking 
every sentence as if it were a confidential statement 
he expected would pass no farther than between you 
and him. 

“Don’t want any grandson of Anthony Wayne to 
mister me,” he said. “I’m plain Frosty Blink to 
everybody—they gave me that name one winter years 
ago when I got the snow blink and they’ve stuck, 
the blink and the name. Where you stoppin’?” 

“Nowhere, yet,” answered Wayne. “Wasn’t ex¬ 
pecting to remain here more than the night. I’m 
going on to the lake in the morning.” 

“Then it’s settled that you bed down with me,” 


FROSTY BLINK 167 

said Frosty Blink cordially. ‘TVe got a house, a 
housekeeper and plenty of room.” 

‘‘But IVe got a party,” explained Wayne. “Nan¬ 
ette Dubois, and a young woman IVe agreed to look 
after until we get to Big Loon Lake. I left them 
to come and get this wireless message.” 

“Nanette Dubois!” exclaimed Frosty. “Then of 
course you’ll stop with me. Red and his daughter 
always stop at my place when they’re holdin’ over 
at the fort. Come on, Nanette is probably there 
now, and Rosalie rampagin’ all over the place be¬ 
cause I ain’t to supper yit.” 

Wayne left the post trading room with Frosty. 
Once outside, he turned to him and asked: 

“Look here, what do you know about my grand¬ 
father’s claim to the Chovard tract? Was it clean 
and clear?” 

“Clean as a whistle; clear as a bell,” answered 
Frosty, “so far as I know. Why, what’s botherin’ 
your mind in that direction, boy?” 

Wayne explained about having met Cecile Denni¬ 
son and what he knew of her supposed ownership 
of the Big Loon Lake land. Frosty listened with 
interest, cocking his bald head first on one side and 
then on the other, like a bird, as he closed an alter¬ 
nate eye. 

“Shucks, there ain’t anything to that,” he declared, 


i68 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


as Wayne finished. “I ain’t never heerd of any Den¬ 
nison around these parts, let alone one that owned 
land, and I bin here off and on for thirty years.” 

‘^But it isn’t likely that her aunt is named Denni¬ 
son,” said Wayne. ^That’s the kid’s name.” 

^‘Don’t make no matters,” said Frosty. “Nobody 
ever disputed your granddad’s claim while he was 
livin’ that I remember, and I don’t reckon a claim 
made now would last ten minutes in any court of 
law. Forget it, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” said Wayne. “For I want to be 
sure. If this kid owns that land, she’s going to have 
it. I’ll fight just as hard to see that she does get it 
as I will to hang on to it if it’s mine.” 

“Man-talk,” said Frosty. “You seem more like 
your grandaddy every minute. But, if you asked 
me, I’d say the whole country around Loon Lake 
ain’t worth skinnin’ a knuckle over.” 

“Then you don’t think there’s any copper there?” 
asked Wayne. 

“Copper!” exploded Frosty. “This whole coun¬ 
try’s putrid with copper; but what good’s that? No 
way to git it out; won’t be till they build a railroad 
up here and that won’t be in your day or mine, boy. 
It’ll take somethin’ more than copper to bull-tie and 
lead a railroad up to Big Loon Lake; leastwise, 
while copper’s sellin’ for anything below thirty a 


FROSTY BLINK 


169 

pound; and them’s war figgers, boy; we’ll never see 
their like again.” 

“Then why are the Black-Downey interests work¬ 
ing so hard to corral all the land they can get hold 
of around Big Loon Lake?” asked Wayne. 

Frosty Blink cocked a wise eye. “Jest another 
blue-sky stock jobbin’ scheme,” he said. “They’ve 
exploited everything they can south of here; now 
they’re migratin’ north; think they’re gettin’ so far 
away that nobody will investigate their claims.” 

“Can’t see it that way,” said Wayne. “Black 
offered me too big a figure for my land. If all he 
was up to was a stock jobbing scheme, he wouldn’t 
need to waste any money in buying me out.” 

“Not unless he wanted to impress you—and 
others,” said Frosty sagely. “Boy, I’ve summered 
and wintered this country and I know there’s money 
here. But it’s only in something you can easily 
freight out, like furs. We’ve had this prospective 
copper boom, and prospective oil boom, and a lot 
more prospective booms, but the trouble with ’em 
was they were prospective, too dam prospective; 
they all petered out for the same reason; no rail 
line.” 

“Black thinks he’s got a way to get copper out,” 
offered Wayne. 

“Shucks!” exploded Frosty. “A man can think 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


170 

anything, can^t he? See those Englishy-lookin’ fel¬ 
lers down at the post tradin^ room?’^ 

Wayne nodded. 

“Surveyors,” continued Frosty. “Just been cruis¬ 
in’ this country for the gov’ment. Coin’ out tomor¬ 
row. They say a rail line up here with a road bed 
solid enough to carry anything but the very lightest 
rollin’ stock, and no heavy freight, would cost about 
ten times what it could expect to earn in a hundred 
years. Boy, if Bill Black acshually offered you any 
real money for your grandaddy’s land and showed 
you the money, you ought to fisthook it so rapid it’d 
be in danger of catchin’ fire with the friction.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m up here for,” said Wa5me. 
“To find out if the land is really worth anything.” 

“It ain’t,” said Frosty decisively. “Unless you 
can find an easy mark.” 

Wayne smiled. He was getting to like this cordial 
little fat man with his squeaky voice, his stabbing 
emphases and sage opinions. 

“I’m not looking for easy marks,” he said. “I’d 
hesitate to sell it even to Black if I didn’t think he’d 
be entirely satisfied with his bargain. But I’m not 
ready to sell to anybody yet. I’ll hold on a little 
while longer.” 

“Stubborn,” said Frosty. “Just like your 
grandad.” 


FROSTY BLINK 


171 

^^Expect I am/’ said Wayne. “But it’s the way 
they made me and I’ve got to fight it out along 
these lines. What do you know about Bill Black? 
What breed of pup is he?” 

“Half-blooded Indian,” answered Frosty. “Aside 
from that Black is one of the meanest scoundrels the 
good Lord ever allowed to encumber this earth. 
Everybody that knows him will confirm that state¬ 
ment cheerfully.” 

“But surely there’s something decent about him,” 
suggested Wayne. “I never yet happened to meet a 
man that didn’t have a white spot in him some¬ 
where, if you could find it.” 

Frosty shook his head. “Bill’s all black,” he 
said, “from head to heels, hide to innards—if I 
know him.” 

They had arrived in front of the largest house 
at Fort Carillon, a two-story building. It was Frosty 
Blink’s home and the second of the two boarding 
houses in the place, though it entertained guests for 
only about five months of the year and then seldom 
more than half a dozen at a time; usually people 
whom Frosty called his friends. Frosty had ac¬ 
cumulated a modest competence in trapping and fur 
trading and might have gone to live in the States, 

from where he had originally come, but he loved the 
* 


172 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


country and expected to end his days there. A sign 
over the door bore the legend: 

FROSTY blink’s 

Board and Lodging 

Rosalie Thebault was Frosty’s housekeeper and 
about everybody in the north knew Rosalie; it was a 
common saying that she could cook even an old 
boot tap so that it would be tender and palatable. 

Just before they entered, Wayne lowered his voice 
and said to Frosty: 

‘Tf Nanette Dubois and the kid are here, don’t 
say anything about my ownership of the Chovard 
tract.” 

Rosalie met them at the door. She was a vast 
bulk of a woman, dressed in a brown wrapper spat¬ 
tered with huge polka dots—a favorite pattern in 
the north. She had an enormous arm that would 
have shamed a blacksmith; yet, for all her size, she 
was not ill-looking, since she possessed a fresh, rosy 
skin, roguishly twinkling brown eyes and a hand¬ 
some head of hair. 

^^By gar, M’sieu Frosty Blink!” shouted Rosalie 
in mock anger as she caught sight of him. ^‘For the 
fourth time deese week you late for supper. And 
two guests been wait half hour; pretty girl, too; 
ain’t you a shame?” 


FROSTY BLINK 


173 

‘'All right, Rosalie, all right,” squeaked Frosty. 
‘T expected 'em.” He winked at Wayne and then 
added to Rosalie: “You take this gent, Mr. Wayne 
Yeatman, in and introduce him to the girls. I’ll be 
washed up and ready in a jiffy.” 

Rosalie threw back her head and burst into a 
laugh. 

“So, M’sieu Frosty Blink, you theenk you fool me, 
Rosalie Thebault? By gar, them two girl don’t talk 
’bout anything much excep’ M’sieu Yeatman ever 
since they come.” 

Rosalie’s supper was enjoyable, but through it all 
Wayne could not fail to note a new air of aloofness 
toward himself on the part of Cecile Dennison. She 
did not speak to him unless he spoke to her first, 
and then only to answer with a brief yes or no. 

“Wonder what’s up,” he thought. “Something, or 
she wouldn’t act this way: it isn’t like her; she’s 
usually polite as pie, even when she isn’t cordial.” 

Following the supper, Nanette went to the kitchen 
to help Rosalie wash the dishes and Cecile sat in 
Frosty Blink’s parlor beside a table lamp, scanning 

t 

a several days’ old Quebec newspaper. Wa5me 
caught a glimpse of her there from the dining room 
and entered. 

He knew from her tense, nervous attitude that she 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


174 

was immediately aware of his presence, but she did 
not look up. 

‘‘Not going to let her snub me that way,” he 
thought, walked toward her and laid his hand on the 
back of her chair. She could no longer ignore him. 

“Well, what’s on your mind?” he asked. 

She dropped the paper, arose and faced him, her 
lips set. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in a bitter 
voice but little above a whisper. 

“Tell you what?” he asked indifferently, tossing 
his cigarette into the fireplace. 

She was an appealing figure as she stood there, 
the soft lamplight shining in her handsome face, 
making of her hair a glimmering aureole about her 
head; but he steeled himself against the drag of it. 
To him her whole manner was merely the age-old 
game, the woman game, a trap to catch fools and 
make them dance to her tune. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you also had a claim 
to the Chovard tract at Big Loon Lake? Everybody 
at Fort Carillon knows it; Rosalie Thebault told me 
the moment your name was mentioned. Do you 
think it was acting a manly part to let things go on 
as they have with me not knowing?” 

He waited a moment before answering, turning 


FROSTY BLINK 


175 

several thoughts over in his mind, chief of which 
was: 

‘‘Expected me to hop right through a hoop the 
minute she cracks the whip. Watch me do it.” 

“Why should I have told you if I didn’t happen to 
feel like it?” he asked finally. “There’s a whole 
lot of things I might have done, but didn’t. Let you 
go ahead on your own, and, believe me, kid, you 
wouldn’t have gone far. Or I might have prevented 
you from coming up here at all; that would have 
been easy. Or I might have decamped with your 
roll and left you flat; still easier. Instead, I’ve 
played the game square, haven’t I?” 

Her hands were clenched with repressed anger: 
he was so calm and cool about the matter that it 
irritated her beyond measure. 

“Yes, as far as that is concerned, you have played 
the game square; but you’ve been permitting me to 
travel with you under a misapprehension.” 

“Can’t see it,” he retorted. “It was none of my 
hash whether you did or didn’t know; that was your 

1 lookout. You made a bargain with me; I’ve kept 
it; looks as if my responsibility ends there, doesn’t 
it?” 

i She pointed to a chair. “Sit down; we’ve got to 

I thrash this thing out here and now.” 

I _ 

I He stared at her a moment. Then: 




THE WOMAN TAMER 


176 

^‘Oh, I’d just as lief stand.” 

Her eyes became filled with scorn. ^‘Can’t you 
be brutal without being ill mannered?” she asked. 
“Please sit down.” 

Hot and shamefaced, he sank into a chair, wonder¬ 
ing: “How the devil does she get away with it?” 


CHAPTER XV 


OUT OF THE SKY 

She, too, dropped back into her chair and shifted 
it about so that she faced him, the light at her back. 

‘‘Now I want to know what your claim to the 
Chovard tract is,” she asked. 

He fidgeted a moment, unable to decide just how 
much to tell her. 

“Smoke, if you wish to,” she went on. “I don’t 
mind cigarettes. And take your time, for IVe got 
to know the straight, bald facts of this thing.” 

^‘Got to know?” he repeated, rolling a cigarette 
leisurely, though his nerves were jumping a bit. 
This was a wholly new experience for him. 

“Yes, got to,” she insisted. “If you don’t tell me, 
I shall get the facts elsewhere; but I’d rather have 
them from you.” 

“How get them elsewhere?” he temporized. 

“Right about face this very night, go back to 
Quebec and get them,” she snapped determinedly. 

“Yes,” he said. “You could do that; but it’d 

mean a lot of time and trouble; I’ll save you that.” 

177 


178 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


‘‘Thank you,” she said. 

“Oh, no thanks due,” he answered. “I’m pleasing 
myself. My claim to the Chovard tract came from 
my paternal grandfather, Anthony Wayne Yeatman. 
He died and left the land to me. The deed looks 
all right and I’ve been told it’s clean as a whistle 
^d clear as a bell. But-” 

He paused a moment, met her glance unflinchingly 
over the smoke of his cigarette as he lit it and added: 

“But, if you can show me that your claim is better 
than mine, the land is yours. I may be a lot of 
things, but I’m no robber of widows or orphans.” 

“I am neither a widow nor an orphan,” she re¬ 
turned spiritedly. “But I have no reason to doubt 
my claim to the land. My aunt, Mrs. Eulalie Me- 
rode, inherited it from her husband, and I bought a 
nine-tenths interest from her.” 

“Got a deed?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

Wayne studied the matter a moment. “What was 
your uncle’s name?” 

“John F. Merode,” she answered. “He was—well, 
I guess he was a professional gambler, if the truth 
was known.” 

Wayne looked suddenly interested. “John F. 
Merode, eh? Will you excuse me just a moment? 
I want to find Frosty Blink and ask him a question.” 



OUT OF THE SKY 


179 


^^Of course/’ she answered. 

^T’ll be back very soon,” he said, leaving the room. 
He found Frosty out in the kitchen swapping good 
natured banter with Nanette and Rosalie Thebault 
while he smoked a corncob pipe and toasted his 
stockinged feet before the oven of the cookstove, 
preparatory to putting on his boots and going down 
to the post trading store. Wayne called him aside 

i 

and asked in a lowered voice: 

^‘Ever hear of a man named John F. Merode?” 
Frosty looked up, his eyes blinking through the 
blue smoke from his pipe. 

“Jack Merode! I golly, I should say I did. 
Square-deal Jack, they called him. He was king of 
the gamblers back in the nineties, but he’s dead now. 
Got into a fight somewhere up around the Yukon 
and was plugged, I heerd.” 

“Any chance this Jack Merode might have a 
claim on the Chovard tract?” asked Wayne, and he 

i 

told Frosty of the relationship between Cecile Den- 

i 

nison and the gambler. 

Frosty stared at the floor as he began pinching 
a lower lip thoughtfully between thumb and finger. 
Finally: 

“I golly, I do remember now that Jack Merode 
and your grandaddy had an all night gambling 
festival one time and your grandad lost about every- 


i8o 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


thing he had on him to Jack. But I don’t recall 
anything about the Chovard tract being involved. 
As I heerd tell of the affair, there was only money 
on the table. Some months later, if I remember 
right, your grandad staged a come-back and cleaned 
out Jack. Old Anthony Wayne warn’t no infant at 
shufflin’ the pasteboards himself.” 

see,” said Wayne. “Where can I find out the 
exact facts of those two particular card parties?” 

Frosty cogitated the subject. Then: 

“Guess Bill Black is the only man left in these 
parts that sat in that first night, or maybe it was the 
second, I don’t know. You see, it was way back in 
ninety-six or seven, and I can’t remember.” 

“Bill Black,” repeated Wayne. “That’s queer. 
Black has tried to buy both my claim and Miss Den¬ 
nison’s. I wouldn’t sell; but he secured an option 
from her. If there had been any transfer of the 
Chovard tract across the gambling table Black would 
have known it and wouldn’t be offering to buy us 
both out.” 

“He might at that,” declared Frosty. “It’s some¬ 
times cheaper to buy out a lawsuit than to fight it— 
as Bill is findin’ out in that squatter’s claim he’s con¬ 
testin’.” 

Wayne returned to the room where he had left 
Cecile Dennison. 


OUT OF THE SKY 


i 8 i 


no nearer a solution of the matter than I 
was before/’ he said as he sank into a chair and told 
her of his conversation with Frosty Blink. 

“As the matter stands/’ he concluded, “we both 
hold a deed to the Chovard tract; but one of the 
deeds must be phoney.” 

“I am certain that mine is perfect,” she declared 
positively. 

“Oh, sure,” he answered. “You wouldn’t be a 
woman if you didn’t think that. Me, I’m still open 
to conviction either way.” 

t 

She began to drum on the arm of her chair im¬ 
patiently. 

“Which seems doubtful of accomplishment at 
present,” she said. “But how is this going to affect 
our business arrangement?” 

He watched her face a moment, thinking: “Flere’s 
my chance to pull my freight. Shall I take it? Tom 
Porteous will likely be here in a day or two, and I 
can go on with him, relieved of all this blamed 
woman business. As for this kid, Nanette Dubois 
will look after her, and I needn’t carry any load on 
my conscience on that score. Still and all, Nanette 
won’t be able to help her any when it comes to a 
show down with Bill Black on that option affair, 
and in business the kid’s a puling infant; worse, a 
blind puling infant.” 


i 82 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


She suddenly cut in on his thoughts with the 
direct remark: course, I’ve no intention of 

begging off on my bargain, but have you on yours?” 

He colored, couldn’t help it. She had seemed to 
read his thoughts; it was uncanny. Now, of course, 
he couldn’t pull out, not with any sort of grace; but 
it was humiliating to have her put the matter this 
way, shift all the responsibility onto his shoulders. 
She seemed always to be doing that, and so easily, 
too; he resented it. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I thought it was 
you began this argument; I don’t seem to remember 
starting it.” 

“I didn’t fancy the idea of your agreeing to look 
after me and keeping your claim to the Chovard 
tract secret,” she said defensively. “More espe¬ 
cially since you knew of my counter claim from the 
very first.” 

“Don’t see how that need affect our arrangement,” 
he said. “Nothing is changed except that you know 
something you didn’t know before. I’ve told you 
that if your claim proves good there won’t be any 
opposition from me; and from now on I’ll keep all 
my cards on the table.” 

“Very well,” she said. “What then are your pres¬ 
ent plans?” 

“I’d like to remain here for a day or two, if you 


OUT OF THE SKY 183 

don^t mind?” he said. ^‘That wireless was from a 
friend of mine who expects to reach Fort Carillon 
soon and wants me to wait his coming.” 

A puzzled frown came hovering about her eyes 
and he added hastily, drawing the wireless message 
from his pocket: 

“And to prove to you that I really do mean to 
play square, as I said, with all my cards on the table. 
I’ll show you the message.” 

She hesitated before taking it, studying his face. 

“You don’t have to show me this,” she said. “I 
can’t expect to know all of your affairs.” 

“Better read it.” 

She read the wireless with thoughtful eyes, read 
it, as he had, twice, before she looked up. 

“Of course I get the general drift,” she said. “But 
this isn’t very clear to me.” 

“I’d better tell you about this chap, Porteous,” 
he said, and went on to do so, keeping back nothing. 

“As I see it now,” he concluded, “Black is either 
trying to carry through some tremendously big min¬ 
ing plan, or he’s attempting to.put over a whale of 
a fake. Tom Porteous, when he comes, may have 
the clew, and he may not. My own opinion is that 
Black has got hold of something really big; I can’t 
see his offer to you and me in any other light; but I 
may be entirely wrong. Frosty Blink thinks I am. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


184 

and Frosty is a mighty wise old bird; he knows this 
country, and he knows Bill Black from A to izzard. 
The way I reason it out is this: there is oodles of 
copper there and Black has, as he says, found a way 
to freight it out. My faith in that is one of two 
reasons why I wouldn’t sell to him; why I was so 
thundering mad when I found he had wheedled you 
into giving him a two hundred thousand dollar op¬ 
tion on your claim.” 

^^One of the two reasons—what is the other?” 

He hesitated. ‘‘Well, knowing about your claim, 
it seemed to me more desirable, if there was to be 
any scrap over the land, that you should fight it out 
with me instead of with Black. Black is wholly 
unscrupulous, if not an absolute crook; you would 
stand no show at all with him.” 

Impulsively, she rose and offered him her hand; 
her eyes were shining. 

“You do mean to play fair, don’t you? I have be¬ 
lieved that from our first meeting. And I realize 
now what a baby I am; it was fortunate that I met 
you and I’m tremendously grateful. But-” 

She hesitated as he threw aside his cigarette, shook 
her hand and released it. 

“But what?” he asked. 

“But I’m afraid we shall always dispute. I’m 
accustomed to having my own way.” 



OUT OF THE SKY 


^^Sometimes bound to have it, even though you 
know your way is wrong?” 

“I suppose I am,” she said. was brought up 
like that; petted and pampered; my way was always 
supposed to be right. Everything was done for me; 
I was always a baby kept in cotton wool. A little 
while ago I woke up, began to realize conditions; 
that’s why I wanted to come up here alone, that I 
might get a better hold on myself, have more back¬ 
bone. But, somehow, I don’t seem to be accom¬ 
plishing much.” 

There were tears just beneath her lids as she 
looked up into his face. Suddenly, she started back 
with a shudder and a gasp and stared down at his 
hands. He thought she was going to faint. Then 
she recovered herself. 

^What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“The strangest thing,” she answered, drawing a 
quick breath. “For an instant I thought you had 
that long, black whip in your hand.” 

The faintest trace of a smile hovering about his 
usually grim mouth, he showed her his open hands. 

“You see, nothing there,” he said. 

“I see now,” she answered. “But for a moment 
I was sure. I must be getting fancies.” 

“You’re tired,” he said. “Better go to bed. I’m 
going down to the trading post; I want to talk with 


i86 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


some of those English surveyors before they go out, 
if I can get the chance.” 

^‘Then it’s settled,” she said, as he started to leave 
the room, ^‘that we wait here until your friend, Tom 
Porteous, arrives?” 

‘^A while, anyway,” he answered, “though I shan’t 
waste a devil of a lot of time waiting.” 

She watched him go, a queer look on her shadowed 
face, half frown, half wonder. She had never hap¬ 
pened to encounter just his sort before, though they 
might be common enough. He was primeval, some¬ 
times frankly brutal, yet he was every inch a man. 
In a way he was fascinating, somewhat, perhaps, be¬ 
cause he had, so far, failed to capitulate before those 
womanly wiles that she had found so effective with 
other males she had met. 

Any man she had previously known, placed in such 
close association with her as Wayne Yeatman had 
been, would have started making love to her long 
ago; she was certain of that. At least, he would have 
been covering her with sweet flattery and pretty 
compliments—and he would have held her hand 
when she offered it; he would not have dropped it 
immediately, as Wayne had. 

This man, not only had he made no love to her, 
he had not even paid her the tribute of a single, tiny. 


OUT OF THE SKY 187 

left-handed compliment. So far as she was able to 
judge, he thought her rather a useless little fool. 

“Well, isn’t that about what I am?” she reflected, 
and the frown on her handsome face deepened. 

The thought made her angry, first with herself, 
then with him. She bit her lip and clenched her 
hands until the nails hurt her palms. 

/ 

“He’s so tremendously conceited that he doesn’t 
realize any one save himself exists on earth,” she 
reflected. 

Then: “No, that isn’t fair; he doesn’t act in the 
least conceited; he’s as natural as an animal, and he 
certainly has looked after me in a thoroughly compe¬ 
tent and thoughtful manner. 

“But he’s so damned unimpressionable.” There 
was so much exhilaration in the expletive that she 
was almost minded to follow it with a few more 
vigorous ones she had heard on occasion. “So bit¬ 
terly cold and distant; can’t the man thaw, or be 
thawed?” 

I 

With that thought she went to bed, but she was 
neither tired now nor in any mood for sleep; she was 
at odds with everybody on earth, most of all with 
herself. 

Wayne, on his part, walking toward the Hudson’s 
Bay trading station, was revolving in his mind that 
matter of the two deeds to the Chovard tract. He 


i88 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


felt morally certain that his was valid; yet she ap¬ 
peared even more positive that hers was. He wished 
now that he had asked if she carried her deed with 
her and compared them; it was possible that would 
throw some light on the matter. Also, he thought a 
great deal about that wireless from Tom Porteous. 
Had the lad come upon anything definite, or was his 
optimistic message just a result of his natural good 
spirits? 

Arriving within sight of the post trading station, 
Wayne saw a huge fire in front of the building and 

t 

around it a crowd of men and women. He inquired 
of the first person he met, a French-Canadian trap¬ 
per: 

^What’s the trouble; somebody’s cabin catch 
fire?” 

The fellow began waving his arms excitedly as 
he cried: 

‘‘By gar, no: first fly machine, she come Fort 
Carillon! I go home for get my wife and six keed 
for show her to him before she all burn up.” 

Wayne hurried ahead and joined the crowd. An 
enormous biplane had caught fire and was burning, 
around it a ring of wonder-eyed men and women. 
They had read of aeroplanes, but this was the first to 
travel so far north. 

Wayne had scarcely stepped within the ring where 


OUT OF THE SKY 189 

the light could shine on his face when Tom Porteous 
gripped his hand and cried: 

^‘Hello, Yeatman; just the man I wanted to see. 
Let’s get out of this mob; got a whale of a story to 
tell you. But wait a moment; better meet my friend 
Dan Hallerton first. That’s his aeroplane going up 
in smoke there. Met him at Quebec; Chateau 
Frontenac; he was preparing to fly to Fort Carillon, 
chasing after a chicken, I believe, and agreed to 
bring me along. The blamed contraption caught 
fire just as we reached here, or we’d never known 
enough to make a landing.” 

Porteous began shouting Hallerton’s name. A tall 
man in leather coat and leather aviation helmet an¬ 
swered and came toward them. 

He was slim, pale featured, and had long limbs; 
he did not look in the least like a man who would be 
piloting an aeroplane farther into the north than 
one had ever gone before. His features now had a 
drawn and anxious look. The moment he caught 
sight of Porteous, he cried: 

“Can’t stop a minute. Just got news of her. She 
landed here today on a raft with a man and a woman 
guide named Nanette Dubois. They’re stopping at 
a place called Frosty Blink’s. I’m off for there at 
once.” 

Wayne’s every muscle stiffened. This man was 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


190 

undoubtedly referring to Cecile Dennison. What 
business had he with her? Why had he flown a 
thousand miles at the risk of life to overtake her? 
Was he an emissary of Black’s, or was he that man 
from whose proposal of marriage she had fled before 
starting north? 


CHAPTER XVI 


HIGH STAKES 

As Hallerton hurried away, Porteous turned to 
Wayne, a blank look on his features. 

‘^Sweet cement!” he exclaimed in consternation. 

- ^‘Have I put my foot into it? Is that chap looking for 
the same girl that came to the Hotel Marquette with 
you?” 

Wayne^s face was grim. ^‘Looks like it,” he an¬ 
swered. ^‘What does he want with her, do you 
know?” 

‘‘Heard she was going into Ungava all on her wild 
lone, and is chasing after her to bring her back. 
That’s about all I know,” said Porteous, adding, 
rather lamely, “Maybe he’s her brother.” 

“Not very likely,” said Wayne. “Her name is 
Dennison, Cecile Dennison; or, at least, that was 
what she told me.” 

“Oh!” said Porteous, in a relieved tone. “Then 
this business between you two isn’t a case of the 
fond lovers fleeing before the irate family?” 

“Nothing like it,” answered Wayne. “I met her 


192 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


on the train just before we arrived at Green’s Coule, 
and, being alone and green, knowing nothing of the 
country, she hired me to look after her as far as 
Big Loon Lake. That’s all of that. But she holds 
a counter claim against mine to the Chovard tract 
and Bill Black has been trying to buy her out; I 
didn’t know but that chap might be an employee of 
Black’s.” 

‘^He’s Dan Hallerton, only son of P. J. Hallerton 
of the Canadian Pacific railroad; oodles of money,” 
said Porteous. ‘‘He knows Black, but how thick 
they are I couldn’t say. Now I suppose you want 
me to explain that wireless?” 

“Sure do,” said Wayne. “What did it mean?” 

“Just this. When I got to New York I found a 
half dozen different brokerage houses were accumu¬ 
lating all the Hampton Exploration stock they could 
get; not bidding against each other, you understand 
—nobody else seemied to care a hoot about Hampex, 
and considered any man a fool who would buy it— 
but just raking in all they could at the lov^rest pos¬ 
sible price. They secured a good share of their stock 
by sending agents out into the back districts to see 
Farmer Ben, Storekeeper Jim and their like, men 
who had loaded up when Ham^pex was supposed to 
be worth something. These greenies were unsus- 


HIGH STAKES 


193 

picious, of course, and glad to get any figure for a 
stock they felt sure was worthless.’’ 

‘‘But surely they couldn’t work that plan very 
long without arousing suspicion,” said Wayne. 

“They sure couldn’t,” answered Porteous. “The 
very day I landed in New York, Hampex was be¬ 
ginning to wriggle, show signs of uneasiness. But it 
was a creeping market, still is, because nobody 
really knows anything yet. There are rumors every¬ 
where, thick as flies in August, but nary a rumor that 
anybody can run down and find a fact pinned on it. 
I honestly believe I was the only man in New York 
who had a suspicion that there was anything real 
behind the Hampex buying.” 

“What did you do?” asked Wayne. 

“Do?” cried Porteous. “I gathered in every cent 
I could beg, borrow or steal, and bought Hampex 
on margin at one dollar a share. I’ve corailed one 
hundred and eighty thousand shares for myself, and 
I’ve bought twenty thousand shares for you.” 

“Great hokum!” exploded Wayne. “I couldn’t 
pay you back your margin deposit on those twenty 
thousand shares if it was only a mill each. I’m 
broke.” 

“Forget it!” said Porteous. “I got a wire at 
Quebec that Hampex had already gone to one fifteen. 
Wait till the real news of what Black is up to gets 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


194 

out; Hampex will skyrocket to par and then— 
sweetly suffering angels! Think what your twenty 
thousand shares will return to you—a million 
demned pretty dollars, as Mr. Mantalini would say.^’ 

Wayne refused to be carried off his feet. 

“But this whole thing may fizzle out and the mar¬ 
ket slump to nothing before you can get an order 
in to sell.” 

“Suppose it does,” answered Porteous. “We’ll 
have had the big adventure—and we’ll still retain 
our ravishing youth and beauty; what more do you 
want? 

Wayne shook his head dubiously and told Por¬ 
teous of Frosty Blink’s opinion of the Big Loon Lake 
district. 

“An old croaker,” said Porteous. “You meet ’em 
everywhere. For every rooter there’s always a 
roaster. That’s what makes a stock market.” 

“Looks to me as if, after loading up with one hun¬ 
dred and eighty thousand shares of Hampex, you 
ought to have remained in New York to watch for 
the right time to shoot in a selling order,” offered 
Wayne after a moment’s thought on the matter. 

“Yes, down there I’d get cold feet at the first 
slump. No, I’m here to figure out a precise line on 
what Black has up his sleeve; then I’ll know what 
to do; wait or take my profits. But, at that, I’m 



HIGH STAKES 


IQS 

not going back to New York; it's too near the wild 
rumor source; a chap loses his head. There's a wire¬ 
less here at the fort and I've left orders with my 
broker to keep me posted on how things are going. 
As for selling, I don't intend to sell unless I find 
there's no bottom in Black's scheme. I’m going to 
hang on to my Hampex; at least until it touches par. 
What’s the use in being a piker. I'm out for my nine 
million or nothing. Nine million! Hasn't that a 
sweet sound?” 

^^Big ideas, lad; big ideas!” commented Wayne. 
^Wour head is sure in the clouds.” 

“I should think it was big ideas; something worth 
fighting for, high stakes. I'll tell the world, nine mil¬ 
lion! Here’s my plan; you keep on to Loon Lake, 
find out what’s doing up there and get word to me 
here at Fort Carillon. I’ll slip the news to New 
York. Then we will lay back and watch Hampex 
climb. When she touches par, I'll wireless down a 
selling order—quick as that. I’m no hog, I know 
when I’ve got enough, and nine million ought to 
satisfy any man.” 

^^All right,” agreed Wayne. ^T’ll pull out in the 
morning and work as rapidly as possible.” 

The idea of a million dollars profit for himself 
had a tremendously exhilarating tang, like the sud¬ 
den possession of a wishing ring; Porteous' enthu- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


196 

siasm was getting to Wayne at last. Yet a million 
for himself might be only a fraction of the story. 
If Black had come upon something tremendously 
big at Loon Lake, Wayne’s land, adjoining Black’s, 
as it did, might be worth millions in itself. 

Wayne Yeatman’s train of thought came to an 
abrupt halt. Did he, if the real truth were known, 
own a foot of land up there? For the instant, he 
permitted the idea of so much money to blind him 
to his customary sense of justice and all the fighting 
blood in him cried out that the land must be his 
whatever her claim. What was she, only a fool 
woman; she’d marry the first fortune seeking male 
that came along, perhaps this Hallerton, and it 
would be he would eventually get the whole thing. 

Then came a swift shaming reversal of thought. 
No, by the mother that bore him, he would not go 
back on his original intention. He had lived four¬ 
square with all the world so far, male and female 
alike, and so would he live to the end, though the 
Chovard tract proved to be worth a hundred million 
and he lost it all to her. If it was hers, she should 
have it—and marry whom she pleased. 

Somehow, for just a fleeting breath, that last con¬ 
sideration hurt, keenly; but, with grimly set mouth 
he fought down both the thought and the hurt, and 
faced Porteous. 


HIGH STAKES 


197 

“If I^m to make an early start, it’s time I was 
turning in. Guess I’ll be going along to Frosty 
Blink’s.” 

Porteous had already told him that he and Haller- 
ton had arranged to stop with the Hudson’s Bay post 
factor, so the two parted, Wayne agreeing to see 
Porteous before he left in the morning. 

Admitted to Frosty Blink’s by Rosalie Thebault 
as she was about to follow Nanette Dubois and 
Frosty, who had both gone down to the trading sta¬ 
tion to see the wonderful flying machine, Wayne was 
aware of two people talking in the parlor. He thought 
the voice of one was Cecile Dennison, and he supn 
posed the other was Hallerton. Just past the door 
he heard someone call. 

“Mr. Yeatman, won’t you please come in here a 
moment?” 

He retraced his steps and entered the parlor, 
Cecile Dennison and Dan Hallerton were standing, 
one on each side of the fireplace in which several 
huge pine logs blazed. Wayne had never seen 
Cecile when she appeared more alluring than now 
as she stood within the crimson glow of the fire, 
dressed in a becoming negligee, her flame-of-gold 
hair a brightly shining cloud about her head. 

Hallerton had discarded the leather coat and the 
aviation helmet. He had dark hair and large dark 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


198 

eyes. Without the leather coat he appeared extraor¬ 
dinarily thin, though perhaps his height and length 
of limb accentuated this appearance somewhat. He 
was undoubtedly college bred, undoubtedly society 
nurtured, a cleanly polished young man accustomed 
to having everything that unlimited money could 
purchase. 

Wayne somehow gathered at once that Cecile had 
recently been in this young man’s arms, also that she 
had told Hallerton a lot about him, Wayne Yeatman; 
he thought he could read those things in both their 
faces. Probably Hallerton had inquired much about 
him; if he was her lover, that was what he would 
naturally do. Perhaps he had been raising a row 
because Cecile had gone north with Wayne, though 
Wayne could see no signs of anything of that sort— 
and he looked for them. 

want you to meet my friend, Dan Hallerton, 
Mr. Yeatman,” said Cecile as Wayne entered. ^^Mr. 
Hallerton thinks I ought to return to Quebec with 
him; says it is neither safe nor seemly, my keeping 
on. I’ve told him that it has been perfectly ripping 
so far and that I don’t want to go back.” 

Then she turned to Hallerton and added: “I’ve a 
lot of confidence in Mr. Yeatman, in his judgment 
and his actions. As I’ve told him, he isn’t par- 


HIGH STAKES 


199 

ticularly amiable, but he seems thoroughly compe¬ 
tent, and he has looked after me splendidly.” 

At the introduction, Hallerton had offered his 
hand. Wayne took it, and their eyes met. Haller¬ 
ton was smiling, the well-bred, meaningless smile 
of courtesy. Wayne wasn’t; he was studying the 
man. 

^^So polished he glitters, and I’ll bet he’s as flat 
as he is polished,” was his thought. ^^Of course he’s 
just the sort her sort would take to.” 

“Let me tell you, Cecile is giving you a pretty 
strong recommendation,” said Hallerton. “Don’t 
believe she’d say that much of me. But look here, 
Yeatman, do you think it is safe up here? I’ve heard 
some rather loud reports about the country. Hell’s 
Doorway, I believe they call the trail into Ungava, 
don’t they?” 

Wayne nodded. “It’s all of that, and it isn’t safe, 
not for a woman,” he declared bluntly. 

“There, I’ve got that off my chest,” he thought, 
and added: “But my ideas and yours, Mr. Hallerton, 
of whether a woman should always live safely, may 
be totally different. I’ve been taking chances all my 
life; I expect to take a lot more before I die, though 
perhaps not of the same sort, and I believe it benefits 
everybody, man or woman, to take them. You’re an 
aviator; you ought to understand that.” 


200 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Quite unconsciously, Wayne was pleading. Be¬ 
fore, he had not thought he cared two hoots whether 
Cecile Dennison kept on into Ungava or what be¬ 
came of her. Now, since Hallerton^s appearance, he 
was discovering that he wanted her to keep on, and 
with himself. 

‘^Of course Dan understands that,” said Cecile, 
facing Hallerton and laying one hand on his arm. 
^^As for its benefiting me, I was like a first stage con¬ 
sumptive when I started; frail as a flower, pale as 
milk. Now look at me! I’m getting hard as nails 
and brown as a berry. Dan, I’ve actually learned 
that there’s a world of satisfaction in a good, hearty 
damn. Fact. You should hear me sometimes.” 

Hallerton was visibly wavering. 

‘^Of course it’s not a bit of use to argue if you’re 
set on going,” he declared lamely. ^‘But, just the 
same, you must realize that it’s sheer foolishness, 
Cecile.” 

Wayne smiled cynically. “The good old baby-doll 
stuff gets in its work as per usual,” he thought. 
“He’s as impressionable as that train conductor. 
What he ought to do is to twist her ear smartly and 
say: ‘Damn you, kid, you’re going to travel right 
back to Quebec with me; that’s what youWe going 
to do.’ ” 

“Of course it isn’t any use,” she said with g 


HIGH STAKES 


201 


ture of finality. “So why waste your energy in try¬ 
ing? You’d better say nighty-night, Dan, and go 
to your stopping place for forty winks. I can tell 
by your eyes that you haven’t slept for ages. I’ve 
got to talk over some business about the trip with 
Mr. Yeatman.” 

She turned Hallerton about playfully and pushed 
him toward the door, adding: “Toddle along, old 
dear, and get your beauty sleep; I’ll see you in the 
morning.” 

“But, Cecile-” Hallerton protested. 

“But me no buts,” she interrupted, kissed the tips 
of her fingers, reached up and laid them on his lips, 
turned to Wayne and asked: 

“What time are you planning for our start?” 

Wayne looked at her and frowned, waited until he 
heard the door close behind Hallerton. Then: 

“See here, kid, I stood up for you before your 
friend, but I’m not so blamed sure that you ought 
to start at all.” 

She stiffened suddenly. “Well, why not? You 
didn’t talk like that a moment ago.” 

“I suppose you’re engaged to marry that chap, 
aren’t you?” he asked. 

“No, I’m not,” she answered, her eyes narrowing. 
“He’s, the man I told you of that has asked me a 
jLOi of times, and he asked me again tonight, but I 



202 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


didn’t say yes. Even if I had, I failed to see how 
that would affect my going on to Big Loon Lake.” 

Wayne was cornered; he had to wait and study 
the matter a moment before he could answer. 
Finally: 

“It seems to me it would have a lot to do with it. 
If you were engaged to him—or if you ever expect 
to be—^you ought to consider his opinion pretty care¬ 
fully.” 

“Perhaps,” she half agreed. “But considering an¬ 
other’s opinions and following them are two very 
different matters. To speak frankly with you, I 
don’t think Dan Hallerton’s ideas of how women 
should conduct themselves are worth a hill of beans. 
There aren’t any such things as real women with 
him: they’re all babies, to be coddled, comfied and 
delicately nurtured. I used to think women ought 
to be treated that way, too; but I don’t any longer.” 

She studied Wayne’s puzzled face a moment be¬ 
fore she came closer and added, laying one hand on 
his arm: 

“Please give me credit for having developed a little 
since you first met me, Mr. Yeatman.” 

Her voice was wistful and in the wind-soft eyes 
of her he thought he caught the gleam of a won¬ 
drous light. Never, with a woman, had Wayne yet 
been overcome with that tempest of emotion that is 



HIGH STAKES 


203 


the heritage of every normal male: now it came, in a 
vivid, blinding flash, and there was the thudding 
beat of a million predatory horsemen in his vigor¬ 
ously racing blood. 

Abruptly, scarcely knowing what he did, he caught 
her in his arms, and was raining kisses on her mouth 
before realization came. 

For one fleeting instant, she suffered his lips, as 
if she were unable to resist the force of him. Then, 
her great eyes blazing, she fought him away as she 
cried: 

‘‘How dare you take this advantage of me?’^ 

The revulsion within himself was as abrupt as 
had been the oncoming. The mere touch of her hand 
had been fire, but, with her first struggle, the fire had 
turned cold more quickly than it had been born. 
He thrust her roughly aside with curling lips as he 
cried: 

“Damn you, don’t you know you can’t play with 
flames? I ought to break you for making such an 
accursed fool of me.” 

Her own lip curled at this. “Well, why not; it 
would be rather like.” 

He whirled on her, breathing hard, his overwhelm¬ 
ing anger at the injustice held in leash by a mere 
thread. 

“No, it wouldn’t be like, and you know it. You’re 


204 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


not a bit different from the rest of women; you think 
you can tempt a man only just so far as you desire 
him to come.” 

He waited a moment, catching the breath that 
had been almost strangling him. Then, tensely: 

‘‘There isn’t a soul in the house save ourselves; 
the rest have all gone down to see the burning aero¬ 
plane. If I had been the man you think me, I could 
have had my way with you as easy as that!” He 
snapped an indifferent finger as he turned and left 
the house, slamming the outer door violently behind 
him. 

He wanted air, air uncontaminated by the presence 
of any woman. He hated her as he had never hated 
a human being before. 

With his leaving, she sank into a chair beside the 
table, laid her head on her arms and burst into a 
paroxysm of tears and sobs that seemed to shake 
her whole body. 


CHAPTER XVII 


WHOSO SPEAKS 

Wayne shook himself as might a shagg>'’ dog that 
had just left the water, drew in deep breaths of the 
cool night air and started walking rapidly. 

He felt unutterably helpless and stifled; his power¬ 
ful hands contracted with an overwhelming desire 
to choke Cecile Dennison until she was as limp and 
lifeless as had been the snow leopard that had 
clawed his face. The hurt in him was even deeper 
than that injury, for Cecile had not done what she 
had in self-defense. 

As he saw it, contact with Hallerton had aroused 
her, and the luring of him, Wayne, on to make a fool 
of himself had only been an expression of her ac¬ 
cursed sex vanity, the Eve inherited vanity that de¬ 
mands continual tribute, that takes all, gives as 
little as possible, that beckons temptingly, only to 
recede at every advance of the male. 

That her heart actually said what her eyes did, 

that she might have really cared for him, even for the 

moment, that she might have expected something 

205 


206 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


infinitely finer than he had been able to give and 
had been frightened by his ardor, were thoughts that 
had no existence in Wayne Yeatman’s brain cham¬ 
bers. 

For hours he walked on and neither knew nor 
cared where he was going; his legs carried him ahead 
automatically, without brain impulse—his eyes saw 
nothing; he sensed only the bitterness that filled his 
soul, a blind, unreasoning hate and contempt for 
everything related to the name woman. 

Finally, he awoke to a realization that early dawn 
was breaking and that he was in unfamiliar territory. 
The sky was overcast and he had lost all sense of 
direction. He sat down to study the situation. 

“If I retrace my steps I ought to strike the river; 
then I’ll be all right,” he decided. “I’ve read some¬ 
where that if you follow a stream anywhere in the 
world, you’re bound, sooner or later, to arrive at a 
human habitation.” 

He arose and started, walked stubbornly on until 
his watch told him he had been traveling six hours, 
and still there was no sign of the river, only unend¬ 
ing spruce, broken occasionally by patches of stunted 
pine. Had he been forest wise, he would have known 
that he was getting into higher altitudes instead of 
moving toward the river. 

Flis stomach began to assert itself persistently. 


WHOSO SPEAKS 


207 

He collected dry wood, piled it in the lee of a huge 
rock, touched a match to it and sat down beside the 
fire to rest his already aching limbs, aware for the 
first time that he was actually lost. 

‘^Ought to have left a trail behind me,’’ he re¬ 
flected. “Then at least, I could have followed the 
blaze back to my starting point and tried some other 
direction.” 

It began to rain, a mild drizzle at first. With his 
pocket knife he cut spruce boughs and managed to 
arrange a passable shelter against the rock and be¬ 
side his fire. But the rain soon began to fall in 
torrents and a lot of the water came through, for he 
was unskilled and did not know how to place the 
boughs of his improvised lean to so that they would 
shed water properly. Twice he tried to mend it and 
got pretty thoroughly wet himself. After a while, his 
wood gave out and he had to collect more; he got 
still wetter in that process, but that did not bother 
him so much now as did the gnawing hunger at the 
pit of his stomach. He tried chewing a few leaves, 
but they failed to help much and cigarettes only 
aggravated it. 

Came night and the rain was still a downpour. 
He collected what dead wood he could find in the 
vicinity and piled it on the fire, then topped this with 
a great mound of green stuff cut with the pocket- 


.208 THE WOMAN TAMER 

knife he had used so much now that both hands 
were blistered. 

“That ought to keep it going until morning,” he 
thought, and dropped asleep in his wet clothes from 
sheer weariness. 

He awoke shivering at the first sign of early dawn, 
discovered that it was raining as hard as ever, and 
that his fire had gone out hours before. 

There was not even a remnant of glowing coals; 
the small wood he had been able to cut with his 
pocket-knife had made a hot blaze while it lasted, 
but that was not long; the rain had done the rest. 

“Should have dragged up some heavy logs,” he 
thought. “God, how much there is a man donT 
know and doesn’t know he don’t know until he comes 
to a situation where the knowledge is needed. I sup¬ 
pose an Indian in my situation would have found 
the home tepee hours ago.” 

The gnawing at his stomach had subsided, but his 
brain processes seemed crystal clear and tremen¬ 
dously stimulated. 

“No use to prospect for a way back until the rain 
stops and I can see the sun, get a sense of direction,” 
he concluded; managed to repair his shelter so that it 
shed water fairly well, and dragged up several heavy 
lengths of down trees to the new fire he built with 


WHOSO SPEAKS 


209 

his last match. That fire he was determined should 
not go out again until he had no further use for it. 

^‘This blamed rain can’t last forever,” he reflected. 
Yet it appeared determined to do so. Three days he 
hugged his shelter, kept his fire burning and the rain 
still persisted. And now he began to believe that he 
had made a serious error in remaining there instead 
of traveling on, even though it did rain, for his 
strength was leaving him. He could no longer drag 
up heavy logs to feed the fire, and when he attempted 
to cut green stuff his hands trembled weakly with 
the exertion. 

Keeping the fire alight now became an obsession 
with him; he neglected sleep for it and began to 
gather and hoard wood as a miser might hoard gold. 
Somehow, his whole life seemed bound up in that 
comforting blaze. He sat staring into it for hours, 
poking in one stick at a time, experimenting to dis¬ 
cover how little fuel he could use and still keep the 
fire going, thinking, dully, of events that had hap¬ 
pened years and years ago, reviewing his boyhood, 
its mistakes and its transitory successes, wondering 
why he had not had sense enough to do one thing 
when he had done another. 

He began to realize what an error his running away 
from home with the animal show had been and to 
think of his mother. 


210 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


“Stubborn little cub,” he reflected. “Don’t re¬ 
member what she thrashed me for, but I haven’t a 
doubt I deserved it. Know I deserved it a lot of 
times when she didn’t thrash me. I was like that 
snow leopard. Vixen, that clawed my face, I couldn’t 
stand the whip. Mother ought to have understood 
that. Still and all, I don’t know; I reckon one thing 
about everybody has to learn is to stand the lash 
without sulking, flinching or fighting back; life is 
bound to give it to us, one time or another, and 
there’s only one right way to take it—if it’s due us— 
with determination to profit by the sting. 

“Vixen fought back and she got hers. I had to 
give it to her or she’d have done for me completely 
the next time she found the chance. I sulked and 
ran away, and I expect I’ve been paying for it all 
these years, for it’s been a pretty tough life, and with 
nothing to show for it except these scars on my hands 
and face. Reckon I ought to have had sense enough 
to quit the show business long ago, gone back home 
and tried to really amount to something. She was a 
blamed good woman, if she did thrash me. Wish I’d 
had a chance to tell her so before she died.” 

He began to review his experiences with the ani¬ 
mal show, study it in the new and clearer vision that 
had come to him. 

“It was the cheap tinsel and the glamor got me,” 


WHOSO SPEAKS 


2 II 


he thought. “I was meat for that, and I loved the 
fight and thrill of it. A sort of dissipation, I sup¬ 
pose, but what did it amount to? I just drifted 
from one day into another, as short sighted as a 
butterfly, if I’d only known, really getting nowhere, 
just living in the sunshine. If Grandfather Yeatman 
hadn’t left me this land up here, I’d be flat broke. 
Maybe I am as it is, if the kid has the right claim.” 

This switched him off onto a trail of thought about 
Cecile Dennison. / 

‘Tf I don’t get out of this, wish there was some way 
of letting the blamed kid know she is welcome to that 
land. She’s a pretty square little guy, after all; 
played me a while, but what of that? I guess this 
love business with women is like angling for trout 
with us men; there’s no fun unless the fish are game, 
and the gamier they are the more we enjoy playing 
them.” 

The wood was getting low and he dragged himself 
out in the rain to secure more. It was heartbreak¬ 
ing labor; his wrists were so weak that he had to 
hack at a limb for a long time before it would fall 
away. Yet, panting for breath, he hung grittily to 
the work. 

The rain blinding his eyes, he was kneeling, cut¬ 
ting at the butt of a small tree, when suddenly the 


212 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


knife slipped. He felt a tiny intermittent stream of 
something warm playing on his cold cheek. 

He looked down, saw that blood was coming from 
his wrist and knew from the beat of it, in time with 
his heart, that he had severed an artery. For an 
instant he was faint and giddy. Then came quick 
realization that giving way to that meant certain 
death, and he pulled himself together. Taking a 
deep breath, he dropped his knife, turned back his 
sleeve and gripped the left arm above the cut with 
his right hand, gripped with all the strength that was 
left to him, pressing his thumb upon the artery until 
the spurting stream of blood wavered, sank, stopped. 

So far so good, but he knew his weakness would 
allow him to hold that grip but a short time, surely 
not long enough for a clot to form. He must get 
back to his shelter and manage to so bind the arm 
that there would be constant pressure above the 
severed artery. That was going to be something of 
a job to accomplish with only one hand. Could he 
finish it before loss of blood rendered him uncon¬ 
scious? he wondered. 

Feeling as if a thousand tiny white hot hammers 
were pounding inside his head and above his eyes, 
he staggered back toward his shelter, was halfway 
there when he fell and had to finish the distance by 
dragging himself along on one elbow while he still 


WHOSO SPEAKS 215 

gripped the arm, for he had not strength enough to 
arise. 

He reached there finally and after many rests. 
Came the most difficult part of the operation. Using 
his teeth and two fingers, loosening his thumb pres¬ 
sure on the artery for but a second at a time, he 
managed to bind his twisted handkerchief about the 
arm just above the wrist, inserting a short piece of 
wood over the artery where it would press upon it. 

After tremendous effort, he drew the knot tight, 
watched the crimson stream subside and sank back, 
so tremblingly weak he could scarcely lift his chest 
to breathe. 

He lay there for many moments, too listless to 
even think, no more than on the borderland between 
sensibility and unconsciousness. He was aware that 
he had lost a lot of blood; that that, coupled with his 
long abstinence from food, rendered his condition 
even more desperate than it had been before. Yet, 
for all this, there was no thought in his brain of 
giving up; no shadow of doubt but that he would 
pull through somehow—until he happened to glance 
toward the fire and he saw that it was getting peril¬ 
ously low. 

^‘Reckon that’s my finish,” he thought as he tried 
again and again to lash his inert muscles into reach¬ 
ing for more wood and putting it on the fire, only to 


214 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


find that they would not respond, that the brain 
impulse seemed to reach no deeper than just below 
his eyes. 

For a space of time that appeared to be ages, he 
lay there, helplessly watching the flames sink lower 
and lower. Hope had forsaken him; it was as if the 
thinking part of him were a disembodied spirit watch¬ 
ing the body that was him as it slowly died, flickered 
out as did the fire. 

He wanted to shout with the agony of it, but the 
voice expired in his throat. Finally, he began to see 
faces in the flames. Bill Black’s evil features leered 
at him; then drowned Giuseppi, and Nanette Dubois, 
a curiously unfathomable gleam in her darkly 
slumberous eyes. And last, after the flames had 
died down until there was only a bed of warm coals, 
it was Cecile Dennison’s face smiled toward him 
from the crimson fireglow. A single sentence began 
to drum repeatedly through his head: 

“Whoso speaks to me in the right voice, him will 
I follow as the tides the moon, silently around the 
earth.” 

“Who the devil said that?” he called. 

There was no answer, only the sullen beat of the 
rain. 

Then, after many moments, “Wonder if it’s true; 


WHOSO SPEAKS 


215 

wonder how the right one will speak to the blamed 
little kid?’^ 

With that agd the dying of the last glowing coal, 
his train of thought changed abruptly, for he had 
come upon a surprising fact: that in all the world 
there was but one woman for him and that he loved 
her more than he had ever imagined that he could 
love anybody. And the thought hurt tremendously, 
for now he believed her to be wholly beyond his 
reach; he had hurt her, frightened her away by being 
a brute when he should have been a man. 

must tell her,’’ he cried, and struggled desper¬ 
ately to reach the dead fire, to fan it into life before 
it was too late. 

It was futile effort; the darkness crashed relent¬ 
lessly down upon him and there was no more thought 
or dreams or anything. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 

A SHRILL voice within Wayne Yeatman’s brain 
seemed to say, repeatedly: 

‘‘Dreenk! Dreenk! Dreenk!’’ 

He opened his eyes. A taciturn featured Indian 
squaw was holding a tin cup to his lips. 

He drank. It was raw whiskey, squirrel whiskey, 
fiery hot; it choked him so that he could scarcely 
regain his breath and half of it went down inside his 
shirt instead of his throat. But it, at least, sufficed 
to give him a spurt of temporary energy. 

He tried to sit up, found he could not and sank 
back, a thousand stars dancing before his sight. 

After a moment’s rest, he opened his eyes again, 
looked about him and managed to ask: 

“Where the devil did you come from and where 
are we?” 

He was lying on the bank beside a narrow stream; 
there was a canoe beached nearby with a man and 
a child in it, both Indian, he judged. 

The squaw shook her head, saying: **Non com^ 

216 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 217 

pren\ m'sieu,” and followed this with a flood of talk 
from which Wayne could pick out no word that he 
understood. 

The woman pointed up the stream with many ges¬ 
tures, then down. Wayne gathered that she was 
asking him either where he came from or where he 
wanted to go. Since both of these questions could 
be answered with the same two words, he began re¬ 
peating them. 

“Fort Carillon! Fort Carillon! You compren^ 

The Indian woman smiled and nodded, shouted 
something to the man, who also nodded, but did not 
smile; then the child began to nod gravely, like a 
Chinese image with a balanced head, which it very 
much resembled, except for the dirt. 

“You get me, eh?” said Wayne. 

The woman nodded again, lifted him in her arms, 
carried him toward the canoe and laid him in it, his 
head pillowed on a great hunk of raw meat. She was 
short and fat, yet she seemed to possess the strength 
of two men. Wayne did not know that she had 
already carried him on her back a matter of fifteen 
miles and that together with the more edible por¬ 
tions of a moose that her better half in the boat had 
shot near the same spot where she had found Wayne 
lying unconscious beside his dead fire. 

They started off down the stream which Wayne 


2i8 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


decided must be a small river that emptied into the 
Marquette, since it was too narrow to be the main 
highway. The canoe had passed but a little way 
through when things began to slip from him. He 
fought to hold on; it was no go. 

Came many days during which life to him was 
largely phantasmagoric dream. He was struggling 
under a siege of double pneumonia from the de¬ 
lirium of which he emerged only at intervals to real¬ 
ize that he was being nursed by Rosalie Thebault and 
Cecile Dennison. It was for the cool touch of 
Cecile’s soft hand on his burning forehead he con¬ 
tinually watched and a score of times the beryl-gray 
eyes of her kept the fight in him when it seemed as if 
he could struggle for breath no longer. 

Followed a time when he had broken the door of 
death, his mind was clearer and only Rosalie at¬ 
tended him. It was then he learned how gentle, 
quiet and thoughtful a woman can be, even when she 
is as big, boisterous and strong as was Rosalie The¬ 
bault. It seemed rather nice to be babied, even 
though he were a grown man. 

^‘Rosalie, you’re an A-number-one brick,” he said 
to her. “But what has become of my other nurse?” 

A look of grave concern overspread Rosalie’s 
smiling features as she answered: 

“So soon as she sure you out of danger, ma’am- 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 219 

selle, she start for Loon Lake with Nanette Dubois. 
Nanette, she say that if they expec^ for make the lake 
and return before winter freeze up everything, they 
better start. Ma’amselle, she don’ want for go yet, 
but Nanette talk her into eet. Me, I don’ know what 
come over that Nanette Dubois lately; she like stray 
cat, she got only scratch for everybody.” 

Wayne straightened up quickly in the chair Rosa¬ 
lie had placed for him before the window where the 
sun shone and into which she had lifted him. Cecile 
gone north with Nanette and Nanette in a temper! 
The thing had a grim look; he did not like it. 

^‘Where’s Tom Porteous?” he asked. 

‘‘M’sieu Porteous, he wait roun’ the fort,” an¬ 
swered Rosalie. ‘‘He want for see you every day, 
but me, I don’ let nobody come in room when I 
take care sick folk, not even Rouge Dubois.” Rosa¬ 
lie uttered a soft clicking chuckle as she added, 
“An’ Rouge, he say he break my head if I don’ let 
him see you. Me, I like for see that Rouge Dubois 
try break my head; I bet, me, I show heem where he 
get off, pretty quick.” 

“Rouge Dubois—is he here?” asked Wayne. 

Rosalie’s face colored. “Yes, he say this time we 
get married if he have to stick aroun’ ten years.” 

“Well, you find Tom Porteous and tell him I want 


220 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


to see him, damn quick/^ said Wayne. ‘‘And after 
that I want to see Rouge Dubois.’^ 

“Mebbe, m’sieu, I let you see M^sieu Porteous to¬ 
day, but not that rascal. Rouge Dubois; bee’s too 
much excite over something, I don’ know what.” 

With that Rosalie left the room. An hour later, 
the door opened to admit Tom Porteous. 

“Sweet cement, old man, but I’m glad to see you,” 
he said, advancing with outstretched hand and a 
grin. “You’re looking fine.” 

“Feeling fine, too,” answered Wayne. The mere 
sight of Porteous with his breezily cheerful manner 
was like a tonic. “What do you know?” 

Porteous drew up a chair beside where Wayne sat. 

“Hampex has climbed a little, to one seventy-five,” 
he said. “But there she sticks. Evidently the Black- 
Downey interests haven’t got all they want yet, and 
nobody knows what’s up, so the price holds around 
one seventy-five. Bill Black has gone up to the lake 
with his gang of Italians. Aside from that, the 
status is practically quoJ^ 

“What has become of your friend Hallerton?” 
asked Wayne. 

Porteous hesitated before answering, studying 
Wayne’s face. 

“Suppose I got to tell you, though Rosalie told me 
I must not. Rosalie promised Miss Dennison she 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 221 

wouldn’t, but Rosalie and me are two different per¬ 
sons. Hallerton’s gone north with Miss Dennison 
and Nanette Dubois.” 

Wayne nearly jumped out of his chair. Then he 
subsided and began to digest the matter, staring out 
of the window toward where the Marquette sparkled 
in the sun. Finally his face became animated as he 
asked: 

“How long have I been cooped up here?” 

“Pretty near five weeks,” answered Porteous. 

“All right,” said Wayne. ^“That’s plenty long 
enough. I’m going to swing into action.” 

He leaned toward Porteous, his jaws biting down 
hard on every word as he added: 

“Here’s what I want you to do; find Rouge Dubois 
and tell him to get ready to start with me for Big 
Loon Lake tomorrow morning.” 

“But, sweetly suffering angels, man, you can’t go; 
you’re only just out of a sick bed,” protested Por¬ 
teous. 

“Can’t!” stormed Wayne. “I’ve got to, that’s all 
there is about that. Bill Black’s option on Miss 
Dennison’s claim to the Chovard tract expires in 
less than three weeks, as I figure it. He’ll try, be¬ 
cause he thinks, or pretends to, that her price is high, 
to get an extension. I’ve got to find out precisely 
what’s in the Chovard tract before that option ex- 


222 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


pires. The blamed kid is a babe in arms compared 
to Bill Black when it comes to a business deal, and 
there’s no line on this Hallerton. He may be work¬ 
ing with Black for all we know; he may be advising 
her to sell right now. I’ve got to prospect the Cho- 
vard tract and I’ve got to see Miss Dennison and 
talk things over with her.” 

Wayne’s set face was not that of a sick man now, 
but the face of a grim-jawed go-getter, and Porteous 
realized how useless would be argument. 

“All right, old man,” he said. “I’ll do my part, 
but you’re taking a tremendous risk. Those lungs 
of yours haven’t fully cleared yet and they may 
cave; if they do, good-night!” 

“All right. If they do, they do, you won’t hear 
me whimper,” said Wayne. “I know the chances 
I’m taking, but I’ve got to take them to keep faith 
with myself. I agreed to look out for the kid: I’m 
going to. I don’t put any trust in Hallerton; he has 
less spine than a jelly fish.” 

Tom Porteous had scarcely left the room when 
Rosalie Thebault entered, her features flushed, her 
jaw set. 

“By gar, m’sieu, you think I nurse you back when 
Doc Poitras say you die sure, and then let that 
rascal Rouge Dubois take you up Big Loon Lake 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 223 

before you half well? Me, I think Rouge Dubois 
he have something coming for him.” 

Rosalie swung a huge arm through the air and her 
jaws clicked, but Wayne only smiled. 

‘‘Can’t help it, old dear,” he answered. “This is 
one time when I’ve got to go against everybody’s or¬ 
ders. Just now, you’re a lot stronger than I am, but 
you’d have to kill me to keep me here.” 

Rosalie stormed and she threatened dire and ter¬ 
rible things she would do to Rouge Dubois if he even 
considered taking Wayne to Big Loon Lake. But 
Wayne only grinned and told her that he was the 
original immovable object, which was entirely over 
Rosalie’s head, but did serve to convince her, when 
she saw the look in his eyes as he said it, that she was 
only butting her head against a stone wall. 

“Very well, m’sieu,” she declared, calming down. 
“Then I go too, and ten million Rouge Dubois’ shall 
not stop me.” 

“All right,” said Wayne. “If you can stand it I 
can; but who’ll look out for Frosty Blink?” 

“M’sieu Frosty Blink start for Quebec on some 
business or rudder tomorrow,” she said. 

Rosalie left the room with a gesture, shortly 
thereafter to return with Rouge Dubois and a sheep¬ 
ish look on her good-natured features. 

“I go,” she said. “But Rouge, he say we have 


224 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


get married first or folks talk; what you think about 
that, m^sieu?” 

Rouge Dubois, behind Rosalie’s back, cast a huge 
wink in Wayne’s direction. 

^^Sure,” Wayne agreed. “Wouldn’t be possible 
otherwise. I meant to have told you that before.” 

“Very good,” said Rosalie. “I be ready at eight 
o’clock, and we got have shindig, or she don’t hold; 
Rouge, you hear?” 

Rouge Dubois nodded. Rosalie planted a re¬ 
sounding kiss on his mouth and then she hurried from 
the room laughing uproariously. 

At the trading posts of the far north marriages 
are never a matter of much church formality. There 
men of the cloth can come but seldom, can stop but 
a few days before they must mush on or paddle on 
to other waiting communities; hence there is no op¬ 
portunity for the publishing of the banns. A mar¬ 
riage service by the cure or parson, if one is on hand; 
if not a civil ceremony by the factor, to be confirmed 
later by the church, a jubilation, or shindig, as it is 
called, and that is all there is to it; life with the 
newly married couple settles down again to its 
regular routine. 

The moment Rosalie Thebault was safely out of 
the room. Rouge Dubois turned to Wayne. 

“M’sieu,” he said, his face all excitement, “I been 


HE LEARNED ABOUT WOMEN 225 

try for more than week to see you, but that Rosalie, 
she say I have keep out. Me, I theenk I bust weeth 
my news eef I have hold her much longer.” 

Wayne^s features indicated only puzzled interest. 
Very evidently Rouge Dubois was with difficulty 
holding in a big secret. 

don^t know; what do I think?” 

Rouge Dubois tiptoed to the door and made sure 
that no one was listening, then he came back, drew a 
small moose-hide sack from the pocket of his mack¬ 
inaw and handed it to Wayne. 

^Xook in her.” 

Wayne untied the string, opened the sack and 
poured some of the contents into his hand. Rouge 
Dubois watching him with glistening eyes. 

^‘Well, m’sieu?” 

^Tooks to me like gold; where did it come from?” 

^^GolM” exploded Rouge Dubois in a roar. ‘‘Sure 
she goF. And that, m’sieu, ees the copper what Beel 
Black fin’ at Beeg Loon Lake. Me, I theenk that 
Ian’ up there, she rotten with gol’, else why Beel 
Black he’s so ’fraid anybody excep’ hees own men 
step foot on her, eh what, m’sieu?” 

Wayne could only stare at the dull yellow grains 
in his hand, staggered with thoughts of the enormous 
possibilities that seemed to open before his eyes if 
there really was gold up there. 


CHAPTER XIX 


NORTH AGAIN 

Finally, Wayne lifted his gaze to Rouge Dubois^ 
face. 

^‘How did you come by this gold?” 

Rouge Dubois took the chair that Tom Porteous 
had vacated and lowered his voice. 

“Me, I been trap and feesh aroun’ that Beeg Loon 
Lake for ten-twendy-thirdy-years. Las^ spring I fin’ 
place where somebody she deeg trench in groun’ 
feefty-seexty-seventy feet long, seex feet deep. 

“I say to maself: theese theeng she queer; what 
for any mans be so beeg fool as deeg trench like that 
way up here? An’ by gar, she carry way all the 
dirt! That make her still more queer. Jus’ then 
five-seex-seven Beel Black’s men she come along and 
tell me get off Ian’ and if she ever catch me on her 
again he break ma head. 

“Wall, I go—I can’t leek five-seex-seven mens at 

same tarn—and when she all carry gun. But, m’sieu, 

you bet me I do one beeg theenks that night before 

I go asleep. An’ by gar, I get ideal 

226 



NORTH AGAIN 


227 


‘‘De nex^ night I go for that trench for get some 
that dirt; but Beel Black^s men, she catch me and 
we have beeg fight before I break away. I have bust 
leg and pretty near bust head, but I also have some 
that dirt. I sen’ her down Quebec for get assay, see 
Wat’s in heem. 

^‘M’sieu, she ees gol’. I jus’ fin’ out day before I 
start up here.” 

“But, look here, Dubois,” said Wayne. “Is this 
strike on Black’s land or on the Chovard tract?” 

Dubois threw up both hands. “Me, I don’ know. 
I theenk mabbe she between the two.” 

Wayne shook his head. “Can’t be between the 
two: it’s either on one or both, more likely both. 
How much does Bill Black know of this?” 

“He don’ know anything,” answered Dubois. “But 
he suspec’ I know too much, so he chase me up, but 
I keep out hees way.” 

“All right; so far as good,” said Wayne. “Now 
I’ve got to prospect the Chovard tract and do it in 
a devil of a hurry; get up there and find out what I 
want to know before Bill Black’s two hundred thou¬ 
sand dollar option he got from Miss Dennison ex¬ 
pires. I came prepared to prospect for copper and 
I don’t know a blamed thing about how to look for 
gold; but I reckon the post factor will put me next. 


2 28 THE WOMAN TAMER 

Can you be ready to start tomorrow morning, 
Rouge 

Dubois flipped a huge thumb. “Me, I be ready 
for start in ten minutes, except for that Rosalie The- 
bault. Rosalie say she got to have shindig after we 
marry, an^ m’sieu, you know that Rosalie! Wall, I 
bet me what she want she get or somebody get break 
head.” 

Wayne smiled. “Rouge, it^s easily seen you’re no 
lion with the ladies. Rosalie’s as mild as milk when 
you handle her right. She’s got you buffaloed.” 

Dubois shook a dubious head as he left the room 
“Mabbe, m’sieu, you fin’ out few things ’bout that 
Rosalie Thebault, some tarn; Rosalie, she wan fine 
womans—but, by damn, she got keek with her fist 
what feel like some hind leg of mule.” 

At daylight the following morning Wayne was 
again on the river in a big canoe. Rouge Dubois 
sat in the stern, paddling, Rosalie in the bow, and 
Wayne amidships, comfortably resting on several 
bags of their camp truck. Before the start, when 
he began to walk about, he had been a little fright¬ 
ened, he felt so weak, afraid he was not going to 
be able to stand the long journey. But, after an 
hour’s travel on the river, strength began slowly 
to return to his limbs. 

The crystal clear air, first breath of the soon 


NORTH AGAIN 


229 

coming winter, mild now, but an air that would be 
deathly cold later; the colorful panorama of fall that 
encompassed them on both sides, the glory of burn¬ 
ing reds, of golden yellow, of softening greens and 
the intensely blue sky above, all these did their part 
in putting new vigor into his blood after a trying 
siege of illness. 

*And now Wayne was savoring life as never be¬ 
fore. It seemed to him as if he could never tire 
of looking. The rolling river, at one moment a flood 
of pearls, now amethysts, now flecked with snow 
white foam and spindrift that was like fairy tracery 
when it was not the thimdering aftermath of the 
many boiling rapids through which they raced in 
breakneck speed and in constant danger of their 
lives. 

Before leaving Fort Carillon, Wayne saw Frosty 
Blink off on his start for Quebec, secured a gold 
testing outfit from the post factor, had a talk with 
Tom Porteous, and told him of Rouge Dubois' dis¬ 
covery. Porteous had been like a ten-year-old boy 
when the first spring circus comes to his town. 

“Sweet cement!" he exclaimed. “I was sure we 
must have a shark on the line, but here it turns 
out to be a whale. Say, when I slip that little bit 
of info’ down to New York! Zippo! If hell don’t 


230 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


pop wide open on the Curb market I^m a mummy— 
been dead three thousand years and don’t know it.” 

“Wait, wait, lad,” protested Wayne. “You can’t 
send any news to New York yet. As a matter 
of fact, we haven’t got anything but surmises. Rouge 
Dubois appears with a bag of dust, but that isn’t 
a gold mine. There may not be another penny’s 
worth of the metal there. Rouge may have got 
it all; the spot may have been salted for this very 
purpose.” 

“Forget it,” said Porteous. “There’s many a run¬ 
away market been made on one tenth the gold Rouge 
Dubois has found. I’m going to wireless New York 
this morning, but your conscience needn’t trouble 
you any, Yeatman; I’ll only send the truth; swear 
on my honor I won’t stretch it a hundredth of an 
inch. Don’t need to; ’s enough!” 

“But won’t that start a stampede up here?” pro¬ 
tested Wayne. 

“What of it?” answered Porteous. “Let ’em 
come; the more the merrier. But there isn’t much 
chance until spring. We are within a month of the 
freeze-up now, less, if a blizzard should happen 
along. Matter of fact, if you want to get out be¬ 
fore you get froze in, you’ll have to hurry yourself. 
You’ve only got just about time to prospect your 


NORTH AGAIN 


231 


claim and hike out again in a hurry, and that 
barring no delays.” 

‘‘Two weeks is all I want,” answered Wayne with 
grim face, “and, by the mother that bore me, I 
want those more than you can have any idea of, 
lad.” 

Porteous grasped Wayne’s hand. “Maybe I got 
some idea, Yeatman,” he said, and the two parted. 

Fortunately for Wayne, he and Rouge Dubois 
had several days of steady traveling on the river be¬ 
fore they took to the trail. This gave him an op¬ 
portunity to gather his strength, to get his muscles 
hardened for what was coming. When they did 
start on the trail, packing their camp things and 
leaving the canoe behind, he felt better than he had 
ever felt before in his life. His sense of well¬ 
being was tremendous; his skin glowed with ruddy 
health; his eyes sparkled, he wanted continually to 
run instead of walk, and he ate like a famished 
timber wolf. The simplest food had never tasted 
so delicious before; the mere joy of conscious ex¬ 
istence was a delight. 

Soon after leaving the Marquette, they came to 
acres and acres of land, as far as the eyes could see, 
that had been devastated by a fire. Only the tall 
trunks of the trees remained, thousands of them, 
charred spires, lifting gaunt arms on high as if 


232 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


crying out to God for the injury that had been done. 
Many had been so badly burned that the first heavy 
wind might send them crashing to earth; others 
might continue to stand for years. 

By evening of their fourth day of foot travel, they 
reached the southern limits of the Chovard tract 
and had, as yet, met not a living soul. 

A thousand acres is, comparatively speaking, not 
a huge parcel of the earth, but it looms big. Sev¬ 
eral years before, the Chovard tract, a combination 
of several smaller claims, had been surveyed and 
staked out at twenty-rod intervals with white circled 
markers. But many of these stakes had rotted 
and fallen, while others had been pulled up by 
thoughtless Indians, for no decent white person 
will ever meddle with a surveyor’s mark. Enough 
remained, however, to indicate a general idea of 
the boundaries. 

Roughly, the Chovard tract was in the shape of a 
gigantic triangle cut out of the various claims the 
Black-Downey interests had acquired, like a slice 
of pie. It was several miles wide at the base and 
came to a blunt point at Big Loon Lake. Wayne 
and his party came upon the land at the base of 
the triangle and here they decided to make camp and 
establish their headquarters, as the spot was only 
a short distance from where Rouge Dubois had dis- 


NORTH AGAIN 


233 

covered the trench with its gold-bearing earth, and 
here there was water. 

“We’ll take a look around soon,” said Wayne as 
he and Dubois sat smoking after their evening meal. 
“Black’s men won’t be expecting us—at least I 
don’t think they will—and I want to see that trench 
before they know we are here. About midnight, 
we’ll start out, if you reckon it’s safe to leave 
Rosalie alone.” 

Rouge Dubois chuckled. “M’sieu, I theenk 
mabbe Rosalie, she safer than you and me. I bet 
me nobody trouble Rosalie eef they know who she 
ees.” 

Came midnight and Wayne and Rouge Dubois left 
the camp. It was still and clear, just enough light 
to enable them to see their way. After an hour’s 
tramping, they emerged from a patch of wood at the 
spot where Dubois claimed to have discovered the 
trench. 

“By gar! By gar!” he exclaimed as he stared 
about him. “Theese sure ees place, but where ees 
trench?” 

There was not the slightest sign of anything re¬ 
sembling a trench anywhere in the vicinity. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE CHOVARD TRACT 

A HINT of treachery began slowly to form in 
Wayne’s brain. So far, he had trusted Rouge Du¬ 
bois implicitly, but things were beginning to look 
a little strange. He poked about with the toe of 
his boot .among the dead leaves and litter at the 
spot where Dubois said the trench had been. If a 
six-foot trench had ever cut the earth at that spot 
its concealing had been most artfully accomplished. 
Beneath the leaves was only dead vegetable matter 
that had, apparently, been lying there undisturbed 
for uncounted centuries. 

‘Took again. Rouge; are you certain this is the 
place?” asked Wayne. It was difficult for him to 
abandon all faith in this big, good-natured French- 
Canadian guide. 

“Sure?” exclaimed Dubois earnestly. “M’sieu, 
I am so sure I bet my life on her. Me, I travel 
theese country seence I been keed. Anybody tell 
you they lose Rouge Dubois anywhere north of 
Quebec, you tell heem hees liar from hees birth and 
don’ know the truth when he see her.” 


234 


THE CHOVARD TRACT 


235 

“All right, Rouge,” said Wayne. “I’m going to 
believe you. Let’s see if we can discover any of my 
boundary stakes.” 

They cruised the spot in every direction for two 
hours, hunting for boundary markers, and were just 
about to abandon the search when they came upon 
the first one, a cedar post bearing a white circle, 
an arrow pointing north and the letter C. Follow¬ 
ing the direction indicated by the arrow, they dis¬ 
covered half a dozen more stakes. Examining the 
last one, Wayne suddenly threw up his head and his 
jaws clicked. 

“Come here. Rouge,” he called, striking a match. 
“Hasn’t that post been recently hit on the top with 
a hammer or a sledge? See where the cross-cut and 
partly decayed grain has been crushed down as if by 
a blow?” 

Dubois examined the post in the light of the 
match. “M’sieu, you sure right!” he exclaimed. 
Then, as he looked at the earth at the butt: “An’ 
see, m’sieu, the dead leaves here; she been push into 
the groun’. Theese stake, she been drove in here 
only short time ago, seence the rain.” 

Wayne straightened up. “Somebody has been 
altering these boundary marks!” he exclaimed. 
“Changing them east of where you say that trench 
was dug. Now, according to the stakes, that spot 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


236 

is on what is the Black-Downey land: before it was 
on mine—or Miss Dennison’s. I begin to smell a 
rat. Let’s have a look at the other stakes.” 

Every stake they examined bore faint traces of 
recent hammer marks. Wayne turned to Dubois. 

^‘Of course,” he said, “changing these stakes 
couldn’t really do anybody any good if the trouble 
was taken to re-survey, for the stakes would have 
to agree with the original survey measurements as 
they are set down in the deed, or the surveyor would 
know instantly that the markers had been changed 
and just how far. I expect whoever moved these— 
and I think I see the fine Italian handiwork of 
Bill Black—was taking a chance that his mischief 
would not be discovered and the land never re¬ 
surveyed.” 

“Sure, m’sieu, that’s right; but what you goin’ do 
about her?” 

Wayne pondered the matter a moment. Then: 

“Nothing, I guess, now; later, we’ll see. Tomor¬ 
row I’ll start prospecting over on my side of the 
stakes.” 

At daylight on the following morning, Wayne was 
out with his pick, his shovel and the mercury test¬ 
ing outfit he had obtained from the post factor. 

The process was crude but effective, and, pressed 
for time as they were, the only one they could use. 



THE CHOVARD TRACT 


237 

The dirt or ore, if it was not already broken up 
into fine particles, had first to be crushed between 
stones. Then it was placed in a pan with water 
and quicksilver poured over it. As soon as the 
quicksilver had a chance to absorb any gold that 
might be present, it was washed of dirt by panning, 
and any water left evaporated. The quicksilver was 
next poured into a buckskin bag and pressed until 
it had all passed out through the pores, leaving the 
gold behind—if there was any. 

Day after day, Wayne and Rouge Dubois put in 
twenty hours out of the twenty-four collecting 
samples and going through this tiresome process 
again and again; always without results. Copper 
they came across often in the outcrop; they saw 
it everywhere, but no trace of gold. 

“Reckon weVe been stung; that spot where you 
found the gold must have been salted. Rouge,” said 
Wayne one evening as he unkinked his aching back 
and looked up from examining a recently squeezed 
buckskin bag that was empty of everything but air. 
As he saw the time lengthening, he had worked 
without rest and with feverish anxiety, and the 
strain and loss of sleep was beginning to tell on him. 

Rosalie Dubois reached out her hand and patted 
him on the shoulder. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


238 

“M^sieu,’’ she said, ‘‘you stick her out. I theenk 
you fin’ something soon.” 

“Sure,” agreed Wayne. “We find a lot of some¬ 
things already, but they weren’t any of them gold.” 

“You stick,” insisted Rosalie. “Me, las’ night I 
have dream. I see you run toward me weeth your 
han’ full money. By gar, eet look like million dol¬ 
lars. You han’ me lot theese money—and then I 
wake up.” 

“Dreams always go by contraries,” said Wayne. 

Rosalie shook her head. “No, m’sieu, not weeth 
me. My dream, a lot of her come true. You see.” 

Only once during all the time that they had been 
in camp had they heard anything from Bill Black 
or his men. That news had come through a half 
breed named Long Bear with whom Rouge Dubois 
was acquainted,,and who had come upon them just 
as they were starting out on their first prospecting 
trip. 

Accompanied by nine dogs. Long Bear was going 
to Fort Carillon to bring back a load of supplies 
for the winter trapping season. At the fort, he 
would buy a sledge and mush north again with his 
load of freight as soon as the first snow fell. 

From this half breed they learned that Black’s 
Italians were constructing a huge camp up near the 
lake and that Nanette Dubois, Cecile Dennison and 


THE CHOVARD TRACT 239 

Dan Hallerton had pitched their tents on the op¬ 
posite side. 

This news, coupled with the delay in finding any 
trace of gold on his land, made Wayne uneasy. 
Since Cecile was so near Black, it was probable 
that there had been communication between them 
and that Black was only waiting the right moment 
to take up or get an extension of his option on the 
Chovard tract. 

“If we don’t find any trace of gold tomorrow,” 
said Wayne, after many days’ prospecting, “I’m 
going north to Nanette’s camp. I’ve got to have a 
talk with Miss Dennison. She must know about 
this gold discovery of yours. Rouge.” 

“All right,” agreed Dubois. “Wan theeng, she 
same as another to me.” 

The next day Wayne and Rouge Dubois were 
again out at the first streak of dawn. 

“Let’s try a new spot,” said Wayne as they were 
starting. “Let’s work east—we’ve been working 
north most of the time so far.” 

Rouge agreeing, they started east and had been 
traveling for almost an hour when Dubois suddenly 
paused with eyes staring ahead of him. 

“By gar, m’sieu, look!” he cried. 

Straight ahead of them was a long trench dug in 
the earth exactly as Dubois had described. 


240 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


‘‘But this isn’t the place it ought to be in,” said 
Wayne. “What can it mean?” 

Rouge Dubois began prodding his head with one 
finger. “By gar, m’sieu, I don’t understan’ her. 
Mabbe I been mistake before and theese, she ees 
right place. She sure look like same trench, but 
theese ees on Chovar’ trac’.” 

“Well, anyway, I’m going to test some of the 
dirt.” 

Wayne climbed down into the trench. 

“But eef theese is right place, we know she have 
gol’ in her,” protested Dubois. “What’s use wast¬ 
ing time testing her?” 

“We don’t know anything,” answered Wayne. 
“That dirt you took away may have been salted; 
I’m going to find out for sure. Keep an eye out 
above there for any of Black’s men. This thing 
may be a trap for us, as it was a trap before for 
you.” 

Five times Wayne tested ore from that trench and 
found not even a trace of gold. 

“Worth five hundred to the ton!” he commented 
dispiritedly, as he made the last test. “Anybody 
that paid five cents a ton for this cursed stuff would 
be badly swindled. Either you had the right spot 
before and this is the wrong one and a new trench, 
or this is the original one and it was salted.” 


THE CHOVARD TRACT 


241 


Dubois was puzzled. ^^Mabbe I been fool twice,” 
he said. “But eef so, she firs’ tarn eet happen.” 

“Let’s strike west in the direction this trench 
heads,” said Wayne. “I’ll try once more, then I’m 
going to quit—I’ve got enough.” He felt utterly 
discouraged. 

They walked west a way; Wayne struck in with 
his pick and then felt suddenly faint as he stared 
with bulging eyes at the earth he had turned up. 

No call for the mercury test here. The whole 
patch of ground was aglow with tiny particles that 
shone in the sun like so many stars. 

“Gol’!” cried Rouge Dubois. “M’sieu, I theenk 
she run ten, fifteen thousan’ dollar to the ton.” 

“Good God!” was all Wayne could say. 

His hands trembling, all excitement, he followed 
the lead for fifty feet and found no decrease in 
the richness of the dirt he uncovered. Then he 
straightened up. 

“ ’S enough,” he said. “This, beyond doubt, is 
on the Chovard tract. Now we’re going up to Miss 
Dennison’s camp as quick as God and our feet will 
let us.” 

Rouge Dubois looked somewhat doubtful. “You 
sure, m’sieu, she’s not salt?” he asked. “Me, I 
theenk strange nobody fin’ her before—when she so 
theek.” 


242 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


‘'Nothing strange about it/’ Wayne answered. 
“The whole history of mining is thickly sprinkled 
with records of prospectors who have given up in 
disgust, or sold out for a few dollars, when one more 
blow of the pick would have made them millionaires. 
Later, somebody else came along, delivered that 
blow and collected the millions. Black started his 
trench in the wrong spot; all he found, if he really 
found anything, was washings. WeVe struck the 
mother lode.” 

Painstakingly, they obliterated all trace of their 
digging and hurried back toward their own camp. 
Rosalie saw them coming and gathered what was 
in the wind before either Wayne or Rouge Dubois 
spoke. 

“M’sieu, you fin’ her?” she cried joyfully. 

“Sure did,” answered Wa3me, laughing like a boy 
just released from school. “A thousand times richer 
than I expected. Hurry on with that dinner and 
then we’ll start north.” 

He turned to Rouge and added, “You and Rosalie 
are partners on this—that is, if my claim proves 
to be the one that holds.” 

For a moment Dubois stared; then he thrust out 
his hand with a grin. 

“M’sieu, you sure wan white man,” he said. “But 


THE CHOVARD TRACT 243 

what you mean 'bout eef your claim she prove 
good?" 

Wayne explained to him regarding Cecile Denni¬ 
son’s belief that it was she and her aunt, Jack 
Merode’s wife, who really owned the Chovard tract. 
At the mention of Jack Merode’s name a look of 
sudden consternation overspread the smiling features 
of Rouge Dubois. 

‘'By gar! By gar!’’ he exclaimed with sagging 
jaws as Wayne finished. ‘T remember that beeg 
card game between your grand’fadder and Square- 
deal Jack Merode. Me, I was fourt’ man at table.’’ 

Wa3me suddenly dropped the things he had been 
packing and whirled toward Rouge Dubois. 

“What!’’ he bellowed with narrowing eyes as he 
grasped Dubois by both shoulders. “If you were 
there do you know this: was a deed to the Chovard 
tract on the table at any time?’’ 

Rouge Dubois tried to avoid Wayne’s burning 
eyes but found he could not; they held him, made 
him blurt out the truth. 

“M’sieu, I’m whole lot sorry,’’ he said finally. 
“But your gran’fadder, he lose Chovar’ trac’ that 
night to Square-deal Jack Merode; he lose every¬ 
thing he got, even coat on heese back. Me, I for¬ 
got all ’bout her before. Now I remember.’’ 

Wayne slumped down to a seat on a log beside 


244 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


the fire, feeling suddenly as if every particle of 
strength in him had oozed out at his finger tips. 
The whole face of his world had been shattered 
with one sentence. It was not he, but Cecile Den^ 
nison, who really owned the Chovard tract, and now, 
if he had ever dreamed of winning her, that dream 
was gone, for the ownership of the Chovard tract 
would make her so rich that she would be forever 
beyond his reach—if she had not allowed Bill Black 
to take up his option. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE STORM 

For one thought-crowded instant, Wayne Yeatman 
permitted himself to hope that Cecile Dennison 
might have done just that thing, accepted Bill 
Black’s offer of $200,000 for her claim to the. 
Chovard tract; for surely Black, if he really had 
any idea how much gold there was there, would 
never permit a chance to acquire the land so cheaply 
to slip through his fingers, even if he had to bid 
many times that sum. 

Then Wayne cast that wish wholly out of his 
mind as unworthy, and his huge shoulders straight¬ 
ened. 

“Well, Rouge,” he said. “Teh minutes ago we 
were prospective millionaires, or thought we were; 
now we’re as poor as ever.” 

Dubois flipped an indifferent finger. “M’sieu, 

mabbe she better some tarn for be poor than reech,” 

he declared philosophically. “Me, I been happy 

all ma life so far, more happy than any reech man 

I ever see. Mabbe I struggle along for another few 

245 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


246 

year without million dollar. What you goin’ do 
nex’, m’sieu?’^ 

“Hurry to Nanette’s camp, as I told you before,” 
answered Wayne. “I still intend to play the game 
square, clear to the finish; couldn’t ever again look 
at my own reflection in a mirror if I didn’t, and 
Miss Dennison must know about this gold strike 
on her Chovard tract.” 

“All right, m’sieu,” agreed Dubois. “Rosalie, you 
get move on and we be ready for start in mos’ no 
time.” 

Half an hour later they were again on the trail, 
planning to cover as much ground as possible in the 
few hours that remained to them before nightfall. 
The temperature had dropped many degrees, and 
there were signs in the air that filled Rouge Dubois 
with uneasiness. 

“I theenk mabbe we get blizzard pretty soon,” 
he said, cocking a wise eye skyward. “Eef she catch 
us before we reach Nanette’s camp, we sure have 
some hard travel weethout snowshoe or dog. Me, 

I don’ expec’ snow for month yet, or I breeng along 
snowshoe.” 

Before another hour the snow had begun to fall, 
slowly at first, then thickening up rapidly until they 
could see scarcely twenty feet ahead of them. A 
terrific wind blew directly in their faces and they^ 


THE STORM 


247 


were finally obliged to make camp. This was done 
more on Rosalie’s account than on that of either of 
the two men. Rosalie was not yet toughened to the 
trail and her weight made travel in the snow doubly 
hard for her. 

They managed to erect the tent, build a fire and 
cook supper, and all turned in to rest up for the 
morrow. 

One factor of the storm was providential; it would 
completely obliterate for all winter every trace of 
their having unearthed gold on the Chovard tract, 
even though their own efforts at concealment did 
not prove effectual. 

Came morning: it was still snowing, the wind 
blowing a gale and Rosalie was so thoroughly fa¬ 
tigued that travel for her was out of the question. 
On her own initiative, and knowing how anxious 
Wayne was to reach the lake, she proposed that 
Rouge and he leave her and go on. 

“You can make her in one day,” insisted Rosalie. 
“And me, I’ll be all right here in camp until the 
snow she stop.” 

Wayne and Rouge Dubois started, Dubois in the 
lead breaking the trail; Wayne, his head lowered to 
shelter his face from the sleet, watching Rouge’s 
footsteps, and following close behind. A half hour 
of bucking the storm, however, brought realization 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


248 

that he could no longer keep on. There had come a 
terrific pain in his chest, he was forced to struggle 
and gasp for every breath and his legs were 
trembling with weakness. 

In good weather Wayne had stood the journey 
splendidly, but after his recent siege of double pneu¬ 
monia, the storm and the low temperature had hit 
him in his only weak spot, his lungs. He fought 
against it with all the grit that was in him, but it 
was a losing battle from the first. 

Finally, he stumbled, fell, and was unable to 
rise again. 

Rouge Dubois looked back and sensed the situa¬ 
tion immediately. Lifting Wayne in his arms, he 
started back toward the camp they had left but a 
short time before. 

^‘M’sieu, I theenk you look pretty white around 
the gill when you leave theese morning,’’ said 
Rosalie as she made Wayne comfortable in a sleep¬ 
ing bag inside the tent and began to brew him a 
cup of coffee. “But me, I know how anxious you 
were for get to Nanette’s camp, so I don’ say any¬ 
thing.” 

Wayne drank the coffee and its grateful warmth 
made him feel better for the moment, though his 
hand was so weak he could not hold the cup to his 
lips and Rosalie was obliged to hold it for him. 


THE STORM 


249 

“Too blamed bad I had to flop,” he said. “Afraid 
this will lose the kid her land.” 

Then, after a moment: “Wish I had a calendar, 
but I haven^t. According to my reckoning. Black’s 
option must be due to expire in a day or so. Still, 
I may be away off; so much been happening IVe 
rather lost track of time.” 

For days the storm continued to rage about their 
tent and they remained in camp, Wayne, unable to 
do anything save rest in his sleeping bag and fret 
at the tough luck that had incapacitated him for 
travel when travel was the one thing on earth he 
most wished to do. 

Came the fifth morning and Wayne was awakened 
by the yapping and whining of sledge dogs. He 
opened his eyes to a realization that the sun was 
shining in at the raised tent flap and that Rouge 
Dubois, outside the tent, was talking with some 
one who was not Rosalie. A second look and he 
saw that it was Long Bear, the big half breed they 
had met on his way to Fort Carillon soon after first 
making camp on the Chovard tract. 

Rouge Dubois, glancing inside the tent, and ob¬ 
serving that Wayne was awake, came hurrying to 
his side, a letter in his hand. 

“Here, m’sieu,” he cried, “ees letter theese Long 
Bear breeng you. She from Tom Porteous; he 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


250 

geeve Long Bear fifty dollar eef he make double 
time and get her to you/’ 

Wayne took the envelope and tore it open with 
trembling fingers. ‘‘Must be something mighty im¬ 
portant if Porteous was willing to pay fifty dol¬ 
lars to get it delivered,” he thought. It was. It 
said: 

“Hell broke loose yesterday on the N. Y. Curb 
Market the moment my tip about a gold strike at 
Big Loon Lake got circulated. Hampex shot to ten, 
then to forty dollars in half as many minutes. The 
Black-Downey brokers are chasing each other around 
in circles denying everything, dumping stock on the 
market in bales, trying to hold down the price. 
They say any report of gold there is pure fake, only 
copper and no way yet to freight it out. In spite of 
this, Hampex holds obstinately at thirty-four. My 
brokers are urging me to sell, but it’s the limit or 
bust with me. You too, I hope. Send me news the 
moment you get any. 

“Tom Porteous.” 

Wayne read Porteous’ letter and then, looking 
out the tent flap, had an inspiration. 

“Rouge,” he said, “I want to get to Loon Lake 
as soon as possible. I also waint to get a letter back 
to Tom Porteous. Do you suppose you could per¬ 
suade Long Bear to leave his freight here and let 
you have his dogs to take me on to Big Loon Lake 
while he hurries back afoot to Fort Carillon with a 
message for Porteous?” 


THE STORM 


251 

Dubois grinned. “Sure, m'sieu, he do her or I 
break hees head. You see.’^ 

“All right,'' said Wayne. “Start the machinery. 
I'll pay him any price he asks for his dog team. 
There's about one chance in a thousand that Bill 
Black may not have taken up his option yet, and 
I want that thousandth chance. With all there is 
at stake, I'm sure Miss Dennison won't question my 
spending her money in this way." 

Long Bear came into the tent in response to 
Dubois' call and Rouge put the proposition before 
him. At first he demurred, but when Wayne told 
him that he would deposit the cost of the entire 
load of freight with Rosalie and that, if any part 
of it was lost, she would reimburse him. Long Bear 
agreed to rent his dog team to Wayne. Rosalie was 
to remain in the camp until Rouge returned for 
her, or, if he did not come back within a reasonable 
time, she would start for Fort Carillon alone. 

Few preparations were necessary; they would 
travel as light as possible, leaving most of the duffle 
with Rosalie, and with her they had also to leave 
their only firearm. Rouge Dubois' rifle, as Wayne 
had long ago used up all the ammunition Cecile 
Dennison had given him for the automatic. 

“Ought to have bought more at the fort," he said 
as they were starting. “But didn't think of it." 


252 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


^^Never minV^ said Rouge. get along. Some- 
tarn you don^ get in trouble eef you don’ have no 
gun.” 

Wayne, wrapp)ed snugly in wolf robes, rode on 
the komatic. Dubois, one hand on the gee-pole, 
the other holding the long whip he was constantly 
cracking over the backs of the dogs, sometimes rode 
standing, and at others ran alongside on the snow- 
shoes he had bought from Long Bear. 

The season’s first snow, falling damp, had packed 
solidly and travel was easy. The dogs, lean, splen¬ 
didly muscled huskies, and in prime condition, al¬ 
ways hungry, always expecting a liberal meal at the 
next halt, made good time; though double their speed 
could scarcely have satisfied Wayne, for, deep in his 
heart lingered the hope that he had made an error 
in reckoning the time and that Black had not yet 
taken up his option on the Chovard tract. 

The trees, their limbs loaded with frost that glit¬ 
tered like diamonds in the sunlight, made the jour¬ 
ney a continual passage through a fairy world of 
beauty; yet Wa3me saw almost nothing of this; 
his mind was always miles ahead, up at Big Loon 
Lake, going over and over again the talk he would 
have with Cecile Dennison. To him she was no 
longer “the kid,” and he would not have dared call 


THE STORM 


253 

her that; she was the fabulously rich Miss Denni¬ 
son now. 

A hundred times he wondered how she would re¬ 
act to the information of vast import he was bringing 
her. Especially did he wonder how she would re¬ 
act if she had already parted with the Chovard tract, 
worth at the most conservative estimate many mil¬ 
lion dollars, for a paltry fraction of its actual value; 
and this after he had warned her again and again 
that she must not sell to Black if it could be avoided. 
As Wayne saw it, Black had acquired his option 
by sharp dealing, taking advantage of her business 
inexperience and lack of knowledge regarding the 
Chovard tract, and it would be doing nothing un¬ 
fair to keep out of his way until that option ex¬ 
pired. Yet he much doubted if she would know 
enough to do this. 

Would she be sorry or glad if she had sold the 
land, he wondered, and would she have the grace 
to acknowledge that things might have been differ¬ 
ent had she followed his counsel? In all his dreams 
it was she was the star, yet always a star, a bright 
and glittering thing of wondrous beauty far beyond 
his reach. 

Came the final leg of their journey that'had to 
be made through deep woods, for the fire that had 
devastated so much of the forestation to the south 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


254 

had not penetrated up as far as this. Then, at 
last, they emerged from the wood and their eyes 
were greeted with the intensely blue waters of the 
lake, only partially frozen over. 

Big Loon Lake! Wayne’s every heartbeat 
quickened, but here, he was destined to meet his 
greatest disappointment. At the spot where Long 
Bear had told them Nanette Dubois would be found 
camped there was now no sign of human habitation; 
only traces of one that had been broken many hours 
before and a trail leading south. On the other side 
of the lake they could see Black’s busy camp. 

Wayne’s hopes sank. Cecile Dennison was re¬ 
turning to Fort Carillon: there could be little doubt 
of that now, and before leaving she had probably 
sold out to Bill Black; Black would never have per¬ 
mitted her to leave otherwise. Wayne felt depressed, 
tremendously disappointed; even the magic beauty 
of the lake, a spot of wondrous charm, flanked on 
two sides by God’s almighty towering mountains, 
now covered with snow, could not raise his spirits. 

He was staring ahead, considering what it were 
best to do when he heard some one shout a sten¬ 
torian hello to Dubois and saw a man carrying a 
string of fish approaching on snowshoes from the 
direction of Black’s camp. As the man came nearer, 
Wayne recognized him. It was Etienne Paravent, 


THE STORM 


255 

the young French-Canadian guide he had rescued 
when Black^s Italians had him trussed up b}’ his 
wrists. 

Paravent spoke a moment in French with Dubois, 
then he turned to Wayne, his eyes shining. 

‘‘By gar, M’sieu Yeatman, I’m glad for see you,” 
he said, offering his hand. “My brudder, Jacques, 
he tell me how you get me out that feex weeth them 
damn wop. Me, I don’ know much anything at 
time, but you bet me I got big thanks for what you 
do for me, jus’ the same.” 

“That’s all right, boy,” answered Wayne dis¬ 
piritedly. “Mighty glad I was able to help. Know 
anything about when Nanette Dubois and her party 
quit their camp here?” 

Etienne chuckled. “Sure, m’sieu, they leeve here 
las’ night, middle of night, start for Fort Carillon. 
That ma’amselle weeth Nanette, she geeve Beel 
Black option on Chovar’ trac’ some tarn ago; but I 
theenk she don’ wan’ sell, so she get out heese way. 
Anyway, she leeve here in middle the night. When 
Beel Black, he fin’ her out he so mad he mos’ jump 
up in air and bus’. So soon as he can, he get dog 
team and follows; he say he gone get that Chovar’ 
trac’ or keel somebody. Me, I don’ theenk he ever 
catch that Nanette Dubois unless her dog team they 


2 56 THE WOMAN TAMER 

all break his leg. Nanette, she wan devil for drive 
dog and she got fine team she hire from Indian 
name Jim Glass. Both Nanette and Beel Black, 
they took Little Babo’ trail, or mabbe, m'sieu, you 
meet them.’’ 

^AVell, she did have a little business sense,” Wayne 
reflected. Then: ‘'But why didn’t they take the 
river; it’s not frozen over yet?” 

Etienne laughed. “Mabbe, m’sieu, you never try 
for travel on river against current at deese season 
of year? Wall, don’ try her eef you expec’ get 
anywhere queek.” 

Wayne’s spirits had begun to revive at the first 
mention of Etienne’s news. So far, the Chovard 
trext was safe, but how safe? Cecile Dennison was 
hurrying toward Fort Carillon to avoid selling the 
land; of that much he was sure. But, trailing her, 
only a few hours behind, was Bill Black, trying 
to reach her before the option expired. If he caught 
up with her she would certainly keep her word and 
sell to him; she was that sort. 

“What’s become of Dan Hallerton?” asked 
Wayne. 

“Oh, heem? He and theese young woman have 
beeg disagree over something; me, I don’ know 
what,” answered Etienne. “He’s been stop at Beel 


THE STORM 


257 

Black^s camp ever seence few days after ma-amselle, 
she reach here weeth Nanette.” 

‘‘That settles that, then,” declared Wayne with 
sudden determination. “I’m going to mush the Lit¬ 
tle Babos trail myself.” 

He turned to Rouge Dubois and repeated his de¬ 
termination. The habitant looked dubious. 

“M’sieu, I theenk ’nother blizzard she come along 
pretty soon, mighty queek,” he said, glancing sky¬ 
ward. 

“Don’t give two continental damns if there are 
a dozen blizzards coming,” Wayne snapped. “Rouge, 
you’re going to drive me back to Fort Carillon over 
the Little Babos trail; get that? You can do it 
cheerfully and I’ll pay you two hundred dollars— 
double the sum if you catch up with Bill Black 
or with Nanette Dubois before Black does. Or you 
can refuse and fight it out with me here and now.” 

Strength had returned to Wa5me’s limbs. He felt 
able to cope with anything. His eyes between nar¬ 
rowed lids gleamed like burning rubies and there 
was grim determination in his set jaw as he faced 
the habitant. 

Rouge Dubois only grinned. The big giant knew 
that Wayne would stand little chance in a rough 
and tumble fight against his own steel muscles, yet 
he admired Wayne’s courage. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


258 

‘‘M’sieu, I don’ take your money, and I don’ 
fight weeth you, but I catch Beel Black or I keel 
deese dog. When you wan’ start, m’sieu?” 

“Now, as soon as you can turn the sledge around,” 
answered Wayne. 


CHAPTER XXII 


AGAINST TIME 

For half a day, Wayne Yeatman and Rouge Du¬ 
bois had been mushing the Little Babos trail toward 
Fort Carillon, making speed that Wayne had never 
before imagined could be got from huskies. 

The nine dogs of Long Bear’s were among the 
swiftest in the north; in three of the big fall races 
from Fort Carillon to Arleen they had won over 
all competitors. They were harnessed two abreast 
with the leader. Grit, a highly intelligent animal, 
traveling single. Their ordinary gait was a pace, 
but they often broke into a run. Before starting. 
Rouge Dubois had removed the bells usually at¬ 
tached to their harness in order that they might 
travel more quietly. 

A few weeks ago, Wayne would have paid but 

slight attention to these dogs. Then, an animal was 

just an animal to him. Now he felt different. In 

their short association he had become fond of Long 

Bear’s huskies, and they had grown to like him. 

He could even appreciate Grit, who was often ugly 

259 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


260 

but would nuzzle against Wayne’s leg, begging to 
have his back rubbed, snapping jealously at any 
other animal that dared come near. 

‘‘The blamed cuss has been suffering for decent 
treatment,” Wayne said as they were halting for the 
third short breathing spell. “See how he takes 
to me.” 

Rouge Dubois grinned. “Sure, m’sieu, an’ he take 
bite out your leg eef he get half chance. Me, I 
never see dog yet what appreciate kindness excep’ 
so long as he theenk you geeve heem something eat. 
Grit, he don’ been feed seence day behind yesterday 
—he work best on empty stomach. He theenk mabbe 
he coax some food out you.” 

It was a few moments after their third rest spell 
that they first caught sight of Black and his dog 
team just topping a rise less than a mile ahead. 
Black evidently saw them at the same moment, for 
he stopped, glanced back once, and then lashed his 
animals over the rise at a terrific speed. He was 
alone. 

“Whip up the dogs and we’ll catch him before 
we’ve gone another five miles,” Wayne shouted, all 
excitement. 

Rouge Dubois looked back and nodded with grim 
mouth, his whip cracking over the backs of the 
huskies. Little need, however, to urge them now; 


AGAINST TIME 


261 


they had both seen and caught the scent of the ani¬ 
mals ahead; they knew that a race was on, and a 
race meant food in abundance to them: they had 
always been liberally fed at the end of one. They 
broke into a gait that made the wind whistle past 
Wayne’s ears in a hurricane. 

As they topped the rise he looked ahead, but could 
see nothing, merely a white wall of falling snow. The 
blizzard Rouge Dubois had predicted was coming at 
last. At first it brought little discomfort; but, after 
a few moments riding they came into the burnt over 
district and then it was another story. The wind 
blew across the bare country with terrific velocity, 
all but picking up dogs, man and komatic and hurl¬ 
ing them aside. To add to their danger the tall 
trees that lined the trail, badly burned at the butt, 
began to crash down in every direction. A dozen 
times in as many minutes both dogs and komatic 
escaped descending timber by a mere foot or two. 

Rouge Dubois wanted to halt and give the wind 
a chance to abate. 

‘‘M’sieu,” he shouted through the roar of the 
storm, ^^eef wan of theese trees she fall on dog she 
keel her sure. I theenk we best wait while here.” 

^‘Not a minute! We must take the chances,” an¬ 
swered Wayne. ‘The people ahead of Black have 


262 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


probably been held up by this and that’s our op¬ 
portunity to catch them.” 

^‘But if we lose dog, we don’ catch anybody,” pro¬ 
tested Dubois. 

‘‘Mush on and don’t be a quitter!” cried Wayne. 
“This storm is the best thing for us that ever hap¬ 
pened.” 

A few moments later Wayne was not so sure of 
this, for he saw that Rouge Dubois was becoming 
puzzled about the trail. The terrific wind had oblit¬ 
erated all visible tracks of the team ahead and now 
the habitant must depend wholly on Grit, the mas¬ 
sive leader, to keep them straight. 

Wayne was eagerly peering^ ahead through the 
storm, scarcely daring to wink for fear he might 
miss Black when abruptly he picked something out 
of the white wall ahead. At first all he saw was a 
blurred spot weaving from side to side like a swing¬ 
ing pendulum; then the thing began to take on 
form and outline, and he knew it was Black and his 
dog team. 

Their own dogs had also seen. Filled with a sud¬ 
den reserve store of energy, uttering sharp whines, 
they leaped ahead, gaining steadily on the team 
ahead. 

After a moment Black glanced back and Wa3me 
got a clear view of his face framed in the dark fur 


AGAINST TIME 


263 

of his parka hood. The eyes glittered like those of 
a mad man; an evil smile wreathed his wet, thin¬ 
lipped mouth; it was like a mechanical galvaniza¬ 
tion on the face of a dead man. In a flash the 
thought came to Wayne that Bill Black was not 
only racing on in hope of acquiring the Chovard 
tract 'for a fraction of its real value, but that even 
more evil desires lashed and tortured his spirit. 
There could be no mistaking that look on his 
features. 

Wayne’s anger had approached the boiling point 
when he saw Black turn, draw an automatic from 
the breast of his parka and fire at Grit, the lead dog. 

For a few steps the brave animal tried to struggle 
on, then he crumpled up on the trail, blood streaming 
from his mouth, the other dogs stumbling over him 
in a wildly tangled, uproarious heap. 

Rouge Dubois leaped from the komatic and with 
many blows and deep curses tried to straighten out 
the tangle, cutting Grit loose from the rest and 
finally creating order out of chaos. 

They were again forging on, but the delay had 
given Black a considerable lead and the loss of Grit, 
the lead dog, was a serious handicap to the team of 
eight remaining animals. They were still within 
sight of the sledge ahead, but now unable to make 
any gain. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


264 

Wayne’s hopes began to evaporate; their only 
chance seemed to be that they might tire out Black’s 
team, wear them down; yet they appeared tireless. 

Suddenly, as he peered ahead, Wayne saw an 
enormous tree start to fall directly in Black’s path. 
He watched with staring eyes. Would Black see 
the falling tree in time to turn aside? 

No. In a second the timber had crashed down 
upon him. From the cloud of snow that rose about 
the komatic, Wayne saw the dogs struggling in a 
confused welter to free themselves. The komatic 
was pinned fast beneath the fallen trunk. And the 
man who rode was also pinned there. 

A few moments later and they had reached the 
spot. Wayne leaped from the komatic and hurried 
to ascertain how badly Black had been injured. 
The man lay quiet, the upper part of the tree across 
his thighs; only the branches had saved him and 
the sledge from complete crushing. His face was 
white and set, the eyes closed. Wayne attempted to 
lift the tree but could not stir it. 

^‘M’sieu, you too weak,” offered Rouge Dubois. 
‘‘Let me try her.” 

Dubois crawled beneath the fallen trunk, placed 
his enormous shoulders against it and tried to 
straighten up. It seemed as if the cords in his neck 


AGAINST TIME * 265 

would burst with his straining, but the tree did not 
stir. 

damn, she some heavy he cried, easing 
up a moment as he blew out a vast lungful of air. 
‘^But I bet me I get her yet.” 

He drew in his knees closer, rested his elbows 
on them and then Wayne Yeatman, who, all his life, 
had been accustomed to prodigies of strength per¬ 
formed by ring gymnasts, witnessed what seemed 
even to him almost a miracle. 

Slowly, the tree was lifted. 

^^Drive out them dog!” burst explosively from 
Rouge Dubois’ lips, and, in response to Wayne’s 
wild shouts, the huskies drew the komatic free. 

Wayne began to examine Black for injuries, but 
was unable to tell much about it; while he was doing 
this Black opened his eyes and uttered a groan of 
pain. 

A moment the man stared into Wayne’s face, 
then: 

Guess you win, Yeatman. The breaks have been 
all your way since the first. Lucky boy. Suppose 
you’re going to mush on now and leave me here to 
die?” 

“I wouldn’t quit the worst cur dog I ever knew 
in that way,” snapped Wayne. ‘T’m going to give 
you my place on the komatic and carry you with us.” 


266 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


A grim look overspread Black^s pale features and 
his bloodless lips set into a hard line. 

“Give you fair warning, Yeatman/’ he said. “I’m 
out to buy the Chovard tract, and Miss Dennison is 
bound to accept my offer if I take it up before the 
option expires. That’s tomorrow at twelve o’clock. 
I’m willing now to pay her price and she knows it; 
that’s why she tried to keep out of my way.” 

“All right. Black,” said Wayne. “If she wants 
to sell to you after I tell her what I know, that’s 
her hash—and it’s no skin off my nose.” 

Black looked up with a start. “But where do you 
come in?” he asked. “Seems to me I recall your 
telling me that you thought you had a claim to the 
Chovard tract?” 

“But haven’t got one any longer,” answered 
Wayne. 

“Sold out, eh?” said Black. “Any objections to 
telling me who to?” 

“No, haven’t sold out,” answered Wayne. “But 
I know now that grandfather Yeatman lost his own¬ 
ership of the Chovard tract on the gambling table 
to Square-deal Jack Merode, uncle of Miss Denni¬ 
son. I didn’t know that when I talked with you 
before.” 

“Oh!” said Black, and that was all. 

As carefully as if he had been a valued friend 


AGAINST TIME 


267 

instead of a bitter enemy of them both, Wayne and 
Rouge Dubois transferred Bill Black to the komatic 
hired from Long Bear, chose the best of Black’s 
dog team, harnessed these in with their own, let 
the rest run loose and started again. Black had 
carried a pair of snowshoes, and these Wayne put on. 

^‘Our only chance of catching Nanette now is that 
she may have been held up by the storm,” said 
Wayne. 

Rouge shook his head. “Nothing hold up my 

t 

Nanette,” he said. “She wan devil: she drive dog 
through hell fire and brimstone eef she want for get 
anywhere in hurry.” 

The storm still raged about them in wild fury, but 
they pushed on through it, now off the trail as they 
made detours to avoid fallen trees, now on it again; 
at times sure they had lost it, but in the end, by ways 
that seemed miraculous to Wayne but were only a 
part of the regular day’s work to Rouge Dubois and 
the huskies, finding it again. 

Came night and they made camp, cooked a hot 
meal and almost immediately after fell into deep 
sleep from sheer exhaustion. 

As they were making preparations to start early 

1 

the next morning, Wayne found Bill Black watch¬ 
ing him with curious eyes. There was a drawn look 


268 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


of pain on the man’s features, and Wayne was sure 
he had not slept at all during the night. 

^What’s on your mind, Black?” he asked. 

Black hesitated a moment before answering, then: 

^‘Of course you know, Yeatman, that if you were 
to leave me here, my option on the Chovard tract 
would expire before I could take it up. What’s your 

idea in carrying me along with you when you’re 

_ / 

following Nanette Dubois and Miss Dennison?” 

4 

‘‘Afraid you wouldn’t understand my reason if I 
told you,” answered Wayne. 

Black considered a moment. “Maybe I might.” 

Wayne shook his head. “Black, your way and 
my way of looking at a proposition are as far apart 
as the poles. When you want anything your mind 
is set wholly on getting it, and you don’t give a 
continental damn how you get it so long as you do 
get it. With me, if I can’t play the game absolutely 
square. I’ll be content to go without what I happen 
to want. You’re badly injured. You need skillful 
treatment; I’m taking you toward it as fast as I 
can. That we shall catch up with Nanette Dubois 
and Miss Dennison, perhaps before your option ex¬ 
pires, is merely incidental now.” 

Black said nothing more, but he looked thoughtful. 

Freshened by their night’s rest, the dogs started 
off at a rapid pace, maintaining it unceasingly for 


AGAINST TIME 


269 

two hours, at the end of which time Rouge Dubois 
was about to halt them for a short breathing spell 
when there came the sudden spiteful crack of a 
rifle and the new lead dog dropped in his harness. 

Rouge Dubois stared about him, his jaw sagging. 
He could see no one anywhere; to him the whole 
thing was mysterious; he was thunderstruck. 

i 

Suddenly a woman’s voice called in French from 
behind a huge rock off at one side of the trail: 

“Throw Bill Black off your sledge if you want 
to go on. Quick, now, or I’ll pick off your dogs 
one at a time until I get them all.” 

I 

Dubois turned to Wayne and translated, adding: 
“Shall we throw heem off, m’sieu?” 

Wayne had heard the voice, but had not known 

I 

who it was, merely that it was a woman speaking. 

“No, I’ll be eternally damned if we will,” he 
cried. “That woman is only trying to scare you. 
Mush ahead I” 

“I don’ know about that, m’sieu,” said Rouge 
doubtfully. “Eef Nanette say she keel all dogs, she 

I 

do her sure.” 

“Nanette Dubois!” The sudden exclamation burst 
from between Wayne’s lips like the crack of a whip. 

If Nanette was concealed behind that rock de¬ 
manding Bill Black, where was Cecile? What was 
the meaning of this business, anyway? 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


270 

With no thought of the risk he was taking, Wayne 
leaped from the komatic and hurried toward the 
rock from behind which Nanette had called, deter¬ 
mined to solve the mystery at once.. Half way 
there he heard her cry, her voice bitter hard: 

“M’sieu, you will stop where you are or I shall 
shoot.” 

‘‘Shoot and be damned to you, Nanette Dubois,” 
he answered. “I don’t believe you’ve got the nerve.” 

The whining ping of a bullet sang past his ear. 
He moved ahead still faster, heard another report, 
felt a sudden impact on his left shoulder, stumbled 
and fell, knowing he had been hit. Before, Nanette, 
an expert shot, had been playing with him; her 
last attempt had been strictly business. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A BLIND TRAIL 

Rouge Dubois was lifting Wayne in his arms, 
carrying him back to the sledge. 

Traid Nanette, she feex you,” he said. 

^‘Hell! This isnT anything,” answered Wayne, 
tearing away his shirt to examine a wound that 
showed as a deep red furrow in his left shoulder. 
^‘Made me faint for a moment; but it’s only skin 
deep.” 

He picked up a handful of snow, pressed it to his 
shoulder until it was crimson with blood, threw that 
away and did the same with fresh handfuls until 
there was no more bleeding. Then he showed Rouge 
Dubois how to bind the wound with a length of cloth 
taken from their duffle. 

“Now,” he said, grimly, rising to his feet as the 
job was finished, his jaws clicking on the words, 
“I’m going back to drag Nanette out from behind 
that rock; if she expects to stop me this time she’s 
got to shoot to kill.” 

So far Bill Black had merely been a passive spec- 

271 


272 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


tator to what had happened, lying back on the 
komatic and saying nothing. Now he spoke. 

‘Weatman, don^t be a fool,” he said. “I know 
Nanette Dubois; she^d kill her own father if she once 
gave her word to do it. Better leave me here and 
mush on.” 

Wayne halted and stared at Black in sheer as ton- 
ishment; was the man delirious? Before, Wayne 
was certain that few things would have pleased Bill 
Black more than to see him, Wayne Yeatman, lying 
dead. Now he appeared more solicitous for Wa3me’s 
welfare than for his own. 

‘^Great hokum! Has the man got a white spot 
in him after all?” Wayne thought. 

Evidently Black had, if dependence were to be 
placed on his next statement. 

“I^m about all in, Yeatman,” he said. ‘T think 
both my hips are crushed; I can feel myself slipping 
every moment and we’re days yet from a doctor, 
weeks from a hospital. I haven’t got the ghost of a 
chance. If I did happen to pull through, I’d be a 
helpless cripple and I’ve no stomach for that; I’d 

I 

rather die. Just dump me off the sledge and mush 
on.” 

Wayne faced Black a moment with narrowed lids, 

revolving the whole matter in his mind, trying to 

! 

understand the why of it, yet finding it rather an 


THE BLIND TRAIL 


273 

endless maze. Black did look to be about all in and 
if his hips were crushed there wasn^t much chance; 
the only miracle was in his still being alive and con¬ 
scious, able to endure his sufferings. Yet, somehow, 
Wayne could not get the idea out of his head that 
Black still had a card up his sleeve. So far the 
man had acted no other way than foully treacherous; 
it was difficult to credit so sudden a reformation. 
Yet- 

Reckon the only thing I can do is give the damn 
rascal his chance, bad as he is: I’d never feel satis- 

I 

fied with myself otherwise.” 

» 

Black, you may think you’re all in,” declared 
Wayne, ‘‘but a man never can tell. That thou¬ 
sandth chance comes to us oftener than we realize. 
I can’t dump you off here.” 

“Let me try talking with Nanette then, find out 
what’s Oil her mind,” pleaded Black with seeming 
earnestness. “She’ll come out from her hiding place 

I 

at my call if you and her father go beyond earshot.” 

Wayne studied the proposition a moment; then: 
“All right. I’ll give you one try at it.” 

Wayne and Rouge Dubois moved fifty yards back 

I 

on the trail and then heard Black call to Nanette. 
She emerged from behind the rock, carrying a rifle, 
and joined him. Her face was pale and drawn. For 
many moments they engaged in conversation. 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


274 

Wayne could see, even from his distance, that Black 
was pleading earnestly with her, but her attitude 
appeared to be one of cold indifference. She only 
shook her head to his demands, whatever they were. 

Finally Black drew himself to a sitting posture 
and placed one hand on her arm, still pleading. The 
touch of his hand appeared to soften her and Black 
drew Nanette closer. She seemed unable to take her 
eyes from his; it was as if his gaze fascinated her. 

Then, suddenly, before Wayne could fairly gather 
his senses. Black reached for the dog whip, dragged 
Nanette down onto the sledge beside him, held her 
there, and lashed the animals ahead at a furious 
pace. 

^‘The miserable skunk! Treacherous to the last; 
he couldn’t have been hurt half as bad as I thought,” 
cried Wayne as he started ahead as rapidly as his 
snowshoes would permit, followed by Rouge Dubois. 

As Black and the dog team disappeared around a 
bend in the trail, Dubois shouted: 

i 

‘‘M’sieu, I theenk she better we don’ waste our 
strength. We got no chance for catch them fast dog 
on foot.” 

Realizing the utter futility of attempting to over¬ 
take a team of prize racing dogs while he traveled 
on snowshoes, Wayne slowed up. 


THE BLIND TRAIL 


275 

‘‘Guess we^re beat,” he said dispiritedly. “How 
far are we from Fort Carillon?” 

This last defeat had disheartened him. As he 
figured the situation, Cecile Dennison was probably 
waiting somewhere on the trail ahead and Nanette 
had remained behind to hold up Black. Now Black 
would join Cecile, take up his option on the Chovard 
tract and keep on to the fort, carrying Cecile and 
Nanette with him. 

“I theenk we ’bout two-three day from Fort Caril¬ 
lon, eef nothing she happen to us,” answered Dubois. 

“We ought to make it,” answered Wayne, “but 
we’ll be blamed hungry before we get there. Black’s 
got all our food.” 

Rouge Dubois grinned. “M’sieu, we get plenty for 
eat,” he said. “Me, I go on trail some tarn for four- 
five-seex week weeth no outfit; but I don’ starve. 
When we camp I show you.” 

Came night. Rouge Dubois built a fire and left 
Wayne beside it. An hour later he return with four 
varying hares, all fat after a summer’s plentiful feed¬ 
ing. 

“How the devil did you do it?” asked Wayne as 
he helped Dubois skin them. He knew the habitant 
carried no firearm. 

Dubois held out two thin and powerful hands. 
“She all I need for get plenty meat,” he answered. 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


276 

‘‘M^sieu, you watch cat when she try for catch bird. 
She see her; she take one step; she wait; another 
step, she wait; slow, never shake her body or head. 
She get close; she jump queek; that bird, he’s goner. 
Me, I go ahead like cat, but I don’ jump; I jus’ reech 
out ma hand queek. Rabbit, hees beeg fool; he’s 
never ’fraid; he’s only interes’, eef you take only 
wan slow step and wait before you take nex’. Some- 
tarn I catch caribou that way, m’sieu. All animal, 
she got great curious for what she don’ understan’. 
Weeth beeg animal, so long as she don’ get scent, 
an’ you keep her interes’, you can come close.” 

After they had broiled and eaten the hares, Du¬ 
bois made beds of spruce boughs beside the fire and 
both men were soon sleeping soundly. 

When Wayne awoke in the morning it wais to 
discover that the snow had again begun to fall dur¬ 
ing the night, and that he was already covered with 
a blanket of fine powdery white. 

They started on without breakfast, as Rouge 
Dubois told Wayne that if they were to subsist on a 
straight meat diet they must be content with one 
meal a day; more would be likely to make them ill. 

The snow had already obliterated all signs of the 
sledge traveling ahead, but, as Dubois was familiar 
with the trail to Fort Carillon, this did not hold 
up their progress. 


THE BLIND TRAIL 


277 

“Think we got any chance to catch up with 
Black?’’ asked Wayne as he followed the habitant. 

“Not unless that Nanette she put heem out busi¬ 
ness,” answered Dubois. “Nanette, shee’s wan 
carkajou for fight an’ I been look for signs of scrap 
all along the trail, but I don’ fin’ heem yet.” 

“It’s blamed queer,” said Wayne, “why Nanette 
should hold us up there, demand Black, and then 
ride away with him.” 

“Me, I don’ theenk she so queer,” answered Du¬ 
bois. “When he firs’ come up een Canada, Beel 
Black, he keep company weeth my Nanette. Every¬ 
body theenk they gone marry some day: Nanette 
she theenk so, too. Then Beel Black, wan night at 
shindig, he tell Nanette he got a wife and three 
keed back in States and don’ have no idea he marry 
anybody. By damn, Beel Black, he’s lucky man he 
get out Nanette’s way pretty queek after he tell her 
that! She keel heem sure. Seence then Nanette, she 
calm down some. But me, I theenk she steel love 
heem in spite all he do an’ say. Nanette, she’s queer 
girl; nobody understan’ her.” 

During the next half hour’s travel, Wayne, deep 
in thought, traveled some distance behind Rouge 
Dubois. Now he heard the habitant utter a shout 
and looked up to find him kneeling beside a dark 
shadow in the snow. Wayne hurried ahead, his mind 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


278 

filled with a dozen wild conjectures and hopes. Was 
it Cecile, was it Nanette, or was it Black? 

A moment later he saw that it was no one of the 
three. It was their komatic on which Black had 
dashed ahead, and, still harnessed to it, were the 
dogs, curled up in hollows in the snow for greater 
warmth, their hides raw in places from recent use 
of the whip. Rouge Dubois was staring at them in 
puzzled amazement. 

‘‘By damn, m’sieu, I don’ see through this at all,” 
he stammered. “Theese dog, she been here all night. 
You see, she make nes’ in snow for keep warm; dog 
she always do that. But where’s Nanette Dubois 
and Beel Black, eh, what, m’sieu?” 

Wayne felt suddenly confused, as if he had entered 
a wholly blind trail. The thing was mysterious; 
there were no tracks visible leading anywhere. Pre¬ 
sumably, the sledge had come over the same trail 
as themselves, yet where had Bill Black and Nanette 
left it? Were they somewhere at the rear and had 
Wayne and Rouge Dubois passed them during the 
storm, or were they traveling on ahead? It seemed 
improbable that Black could be in any condition to 
proceed on foot, improbable that Nanette would go 
off and desert a sledge and dogs, even when the ani¬ 
mals had been as badly abused as had these. Huskies 
are amazingly hardy animals; they may appear about 


THE BLIND TRAIL 


279 

to drop with fatigue, yet a night^s rest and food soon 
renews their strength. 

Ought they to back track and try to find Black 
and Nanette, or keep on toward Fort Carillon, still 
more than a day’s journey away? To these ques¬ 
tions there was no answer, to follow either course 
might be wrong, for Nanette and Black might have 
gone off on some other trail. Of only one thing was 
Wayne sure; wherever Black was going, there was 
Cecile Dennison, for the one thing on which Black’s 
mind was firmly set was to overtake Cecile before 
his option to the Chovard tract expired. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 

Wayne shook his head doubtfully as he gazed 
over the bleak expanse of white. 

‘Tt^s a toss up whether we look for them on the 
back trail or keep on to the fort,” he said. 

Rouge Dubois, who had been carefully examining 
the snow all about the dogs and the komatic, digging 
little pits here and there with his mitten, looked up 
and spoke. 

^^M’sieu, theese dog she don’ come here over Little 
Babo’ trail at all. She come from West.” 

‘Tf that is true, we’re worse off than before,” 
answered Wayne. ‘‘Before we had two possible di¬ 
rections in which to search; now we’ve got three.” 

^'Nofiy noriy m’sieu,” denied Rouge. “To the west 
ees ole lady Marquette; she ees still open, or mabbe 
leetle ice. Me, I theenk Beel Black, he fin’ dogs so 
tired he drive toward river, mabbe to wait for canoe 
there, or raf’. When he get there, he let theese dogs 
loose and she come back here.” 

“But Etienne Paravent said it was almost im- 

280 


THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 281 

possible to pole a raft or a canoe through the rapids 
against the current at this season of the year. Black 
couldn’t be fool enough in his weakened condition to 
attempt going to Fort Carillon in that way.” 

Rouge Dubois smiled. ^‘That right; Beel Black, 
hees damn rascal, but not damn fool. I theenk he 

I 

plan for go down stream, not up.” 

Wayne’s eyes lifted quickly. “Back to the lakel” 

» 

he snapped. “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“Me, I don’ theenk of her either,” answered Du¬ 
bois, “until I fin’ track underneath snow that say 
theese dog she come from direction of Marquette, 
an’ she been drive veree hard. I tell you what, 
m’sieu, Beel Black, hees go there to take firs’ canoe 
or raf’ what come along and ride back to lake.” 

“Wait a minute,” said Wayne. “Here’s something 
we didn’t think of. Black may have caught up with 
Nanette’s fresh dog team carrying Miss Dennison 
and shifted to that sledge. That may have been his 
reason for deserting this worn-out team.” 

Rouge Dubois nodded. “Mabbe so, m’sieu. Any¬ 
way, I theenk we bes’ go toward Marquette. Beel 
Black, he likely haf wait two-t’ree-four day before 
canoe or raf’, she come along.” The eyes of Rouge 
Dubois glittered as he added: “An’ me, I wan’ leetle 
talk weeth that Beel Black myself.” 

“All right,” said Wayne. ''You know this country 


282 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


a hundred times better than I do and I’m going to 
follow your hunch. Let’s mush on with these dogs 
and lose no time.” 

Wayne’s experience with Dubois had bred in him 
a daily increasing confidence in the habitant’s judg¬ 
ment and almost uncanny knowledge of the trail. 
Rouge was not a man who never made mistakes, 
but he was right often enough for Wayne to feel 
sure that following him was a wise policy. 

The great-hearted Dubois, on his part, had grown 
to love Wayne like a brother. He had realized from 
their first meeting that Yeatman was a strong man 
who was dead square, even when to continue on that 
course went against himself, and nothing could ap¬ 
peal more to the French-Canadian than that. 

They had been traveling three hours when Rouge, 
halting to prospect for sledge and dog signs beneath 
the snow, paused and gave an exultant shout. 

“By damn! You dope her right, m’sieu,” he said. 
“Beel Black, he fin’ Nanette’s komatic weeth fresh 
dog here. He change to her and let our team go 
loose. Then he mush north, north, m’sieu! But he 
go slow because he got heavy load for them dog.” 

For a moment Wayne’s hope of telling Cecile Den¬ 
nison about his gold strike on the Chovard tract 
seemed gone. If Black had caught up with Nan- 


THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 283 

ette's komatic, surely Cecile must have been on it. 
And yet- 

“By the eternal, I’ll not give up,” he thought. 
“I went out for that thousandth chance; I believe 
I’ve still got it.” 

Another hour of travel and Dubois again halted 
and began to examine the snow carefully. Finally 
he straightened up, his face grim. 

“M’sieu, we got heem,” he said quietly. “Beel 
Black, he make camp here for res’; mabbe he seek, 
mabbe Nanette—or ma’amselle. They quit theese 
camp only short tarn ago, mush north.” 

Wayne’s face was as grim and hard as that of Du¬ 
bois now. 

“Crowd those dogs,” he urged. “Don’t lose a 
second.” 

The whip of Rouge Dubois cracked viciously over 
the backs of the huskies. The sledge had shot ahead 
but a few hundred yards when they saw a dark 
huddled heap directly in their path. At first Wayne 
thought it was Cecile and a tremendous rage filled 
the heart of him. If it were Cecile abandoned there 
by Black, he knew what it must mean. 

It was not Cecile; it was Nanette Dubois. She 
heard them coming, lifted drawn white features and 
a queer look overspread her face as she pointed west 
and cried: 




284 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


“Don^t stop for me. Bill threw me off to lighten 
his load. He’s mushing toward the river now. 
Hurry and you’re sure to catch him.” 

Wayne’s heart gave a leap of exultation only to 
sink again as he saw that Rouge Dubois, instead of 
turning west, was still driving his team north. Was 
the man crazy? As they passed Nanette, she tried, 
ineffectively, to catch at the sledge, a sudden born 
rage convulsing her features. 

‘Where the devil are you going?” screamed 
Wayne to Dubois. “Nanette said west.” 

Rouge Dubois turned and winked. “Sure, sure, 
m’sieu; but she don’ fool me none. I see devil look 
in her eye when she say west, and know she mean 
north. Me, I know that Nanette. Eef Beel Black 
he keel her, I theenk Nanette she kees heem when 
he do eet. I follow trail, not Nanette.” 

Wayne understood. Heavens, what a woman, he 
thought! The man she loved fleeing into the north 
with another after throwing her from the sledge, 
and she still willing to lead his followers astray. 

No need to urge on Rouge Dubois now; he had 
too many scores of his own to settle with Bill Black. 

For a mile they raced madly on through the storm. 
Finally, blown down the wind, they caught the yelps 
of another dog team somewhere ahead. Their own 
team set up answering calls; Wayne cursed them 


THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 285 

deeply as he listened, realizing that the sound would 
warn those ahead and spur them to redoubled effort. 
Was it Black, he wondered, aware of the chance that 
it might be some other trail musher going north? 

A second later Rouge Dubois turned back toward 
Wayne with puzzled face as he shouted: 

^‘M’sieu, I don’ hear them dog any longer. 
Mabbe they stop. I theenk we bes’ go careful. 
Mabbe Beel Black, hees gone do like Nanette, hoP 
us up from some shelter beside trail.” 

^‘Mush on,” shouted Wayne in answer. “We’ve 
got to take the chance.” 

Dubois shrugged indifferent shoulders and whipped 
up the dogs. Then, abruptly, from out of the dense 
snow curtain ahead, there came the report of a rifle. 
Wayne caught the snarling whine of the bullet as it 
passed him and then looked at Rouge Dubois in con¬ 
sternation as he saw him switch the dog team 
abruptly off to the right. 

“The damn quitter,” he thought, and had half risen 
on the sledge with the idea of taking control of the 
animals himself when he saw Rouge turn the dogs 
again, this time to the left and dash them frantically 
on at increased speed. The wily veteran of the trail 
was zigzagging to avoid the shots that were coming 
more rapidly now, evidently from a pump gun. 

Then, suddenly, from the wrack of the storm, they 


286 THE WOMAN TAMER 

were able to pick out the shadowed mass of the dog 
team ahead. Small use to zigzag now, for Black 
had also seen them and whipped up his team. 

One hand clutching the gee-pole, Rouge Dubois 
hung out over the dogs, urging them on with frantic 
cries and vicious cuts of the whip. Wayne hugged 
the sledge, indifferent to the bullets that whined 
about him. He had caught sight of Cecile Denni¬ 
son’s face looking back with wildly appealing eyes. 

She was lashed to the komatic; above her crouched 
Bill Black, at one moment forcing on his huskies, 
the next turning to discharge his rifle toward the 
following team. His sledge rocked violently and, so 
far, his every shot had gone wild. 

Suddenly, as Wayne strained his eyes ahead that 
he might lose no move of Black’s, he saw the man 
cast the rifle violently aside with a gesture of disgust. 
Evidently the weapon had been Nanette’s and Black 
had exhausted all the available ammunition. 

Rouge Dubois had also seen. His mouth broke 
into a grim smile. He glanced back exultantly to¬ 
ward Wayne and then lashed his team ahead at re¬ 
doubled speed. The habitant already imagined his 
hands clutching at Black’s throat. 

But Black still had a card left. As he saw the 
sledge of Rouge Dubois slowly but surely drawing 
closer, he watched with glittering eyes, one hand in- 


THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 287 

side his parka, the other clutching at the sledge. 
Wayne had scarcely time to shout a frantic warning 
to Rouge: “Watch out! I think he’s holding back 
an automatic until we get closer! ” when Black drew 
the weapon and fired. 

A nauseating darkness was closing in all about 
him as Wayne tumbled headlong from the sledge 
into the snow, his last thought: 

“Black wins, but nobody can say I haven’t played 
the game square to the end for the kid; I’m sorry 
for her.” 



CHAPTER XXV 


NEMESIS 

Rouge Dubois saw Wayne fall and knew he had 
been seriously injured, but he did not halt the dogs; 
the rage crowded mind of him was dominated by a 
single desire, to overtake that team ahead that he 
might fasten his ten fingers around the throat of the 
man who drove it and who had just shot his friend. 

But one cartridge had been left in Black’s auto¬ 
matic; now he was giving all his attention to urging 
on tlie dogs, taking the single chance left to him, for 
he had read aright the fate filled message in the eyes 
of Rouge Dubois and he knew that death and the 
habitant rode together. In his own crippled condi¬ 
tion, he would stand scarce half a chance against the 
powerful hands and arms of Rouge Dubois. Better, 
he thought now, had he aimed his last shot at Du¬ 
bois. 

Dubois’ sledge was drawing in closer. Rouge 
standing with bent knees ready to leap, his face con¬ 
vulsed with anger. Another moment and the two 

dog teams, one sledge overturned, raced on side by 

288 


NEMESIS 289 

side, leaving behind two men, battling madly in a 
white cloud of snow. Black fighting grimly with 
feet, hands and teeth to loosen the death grip of 
Rouge Dubois on his throat. 

Useless effort: he might as well have struggled 
against the relentlessly tightening jaws of a gigantic 
steel vice. His face purple, Black^s muscles finally 
began to relax as the strength left him. Dubois 
shook him twice with bare teeth, like an infuriated 
animal that has at last found its quarry. Then he 
loosed his hold; Black did not stir. 

Dubois arose and peered ahead to where the dog 
teams, both now minus a guiding hand, had come to 
a clash in the snow and were a tangled heap of snarl¬ 
ing, biting bone and muscle, every animal against 
the other. Hurrying toward them, he began plying 
the whip and striking out right and left with his feet 
until the dogs were finally separated and something 
of order restored. Then he released Cecile Denni¬ 
son from the cramped position in which she had been 
roped to the komatic. 

“Ma’amselle, are you hurt?” he asked solicitously 
as he saw her try to struggle to her feet and then 
fall back with white features. 

^^Never mind me,” she cried. “It is because I 
have not eaten for a long time and am weak. Hurry 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


290 

back and see how badly Mr. Yeatman has been in¬ 
jured.” 

Rouge Dubois ran to where Wayne lay face down¬ 
ward in the snow, and turned him over. He was 
breathing, but the front of his mackinaw and the 
snow beneath him was colored with blood. Dubois 
lifted him in his arms and carried him back to where 
the sledge teams waited. 

‘‘Ma’amselle, I theenk m’sieu he got hees good- 
by theese tarn,” he said sadly. ‘‘He^s breathe— 
leetle; but he lose pretty much blood back there. 
He^s got bad shot in breast.” 

^Tay him here beside me, and I’ll see,” said 
Cecile. “I wish I had some stimulant.” 

Tenderly she unfastened Wayne’s mackinaw, 
then his woolen shirt and turned them back to dis¬ 
close an ugly wound in his side, just below the left 
arm pit. 

At first the sight of so much blood almost made 
her swoon, but she clenched her teeth and fought 
the faintness off. Reaching one hand beneath him 
and inside his shirt, she tried to discover whether the 
bullet had lodged in the muscles at the back or 
passed out. 

There was a tiny opening in the flesh below the 
shoulder blade. Her anxiously beating heart slowed 
down. If the lung was not penetrated, a fact that 


NEMESIS 


291 


seemed reasonably certain, since no blood had come 
from his mouth, she knew now that Wayne had a 
fighting chance for life. 

She withdrew her blood-smeared hand and glanced 
up to find Rouge Dubois looking down on her as he 
held forward a bottle filled with a pale amber liquid. 

^^Mabbe, ma’amselle, you theenk leetle squirrel 
whiskey some stimulant? She sure got beeg kick in 
her, eef that do any good. I fin’ her on our komatic 
what Beel Black steal; me, I always carry leetle 
hooch wherever I go.” 

Cecile’s glance brightened and she took the bottle 
from Dubois’ hand. 

'^That’s fine,” she said in a voice of encourage¬ 
ment and then, to the infinite disgust of Rouge Du¬ 
bois, instead of making Wayne drink of the fiery 
liquid, she began to pour it over his wound. 

‘‘By damn, ma’amselle, you gone crazee?” he ex¬ 
claimed in astonishment. “She’s not water, I tell 
you; she’s squirrel whiskey. For drink, not wash; 
make drunk—eef you so lucky you get enough of 
her.” 

“I understand,” she answered. “But, in this case, 
it happens to be more useful as an antiseptic than as 
a drink, though I shall give him a little after I’ve 
finished dressing the wound.” 

Beneath her gentle and skillful ministrations 


292 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


Wayne began to revive. A moment and he had 
opened his eyes. She did not know it until she felt 
his hand touch hers softly and heard him say: 

“You^re real, aren’t you? I thought you were a 
dream.” 

^‘You’ll have to keep quiet if you wish me to at¬ 
tend to your wound,” she answered without meeting 
his eyes. Her voice was businesslike and austere. 

^‘All right, kid. I’ll behave. But, if it’s not too 
much trouble, I wish you’d tell me what happened.” 

“You were shot by Bill Black,” she answered 
curtly without slowing up any in the process of dress¬ 
ing his wound. “I don’t think it will do you any 
good to talk; you’d better keep as quiet as possible. 
I’m not exactly positive about tliat lung of yours, 
whetlier it was penetrated or how close the shot 
came.” 

“But what’s become of Black?” he insisted. 

“I think your guide killed him,” she answered. 
“But I’m not sure. He lays back there in the snow. 
I’m going to have him brought here as soon as I 
finish with you. That’s all your questions I intend 
to answer, so you may as well keep to yourself any 
more you have in mind to ask.” 

He gripped her wrist, gripped it with more 
strength than she had any idea was left in him. 

“No, by God, you’re not going to stop with that,” 


NEMESIS 


293 

he snapped in his old manner. ^‘IVe one more 
question youVe got to answer or—well, I don^t know 
just what I’ll do, but it won’t be pleasant, I know 
that. Will you answer it?” 

At last she met his glowing eyes; but there was 
only a look of scorn in hers. 

^Wou haven’t got your whip with you; but I may 
consent to answer your question—if I consider it of 
sufficient importance.” 

He winced as quickly beneath her taunt as if she 
had herself struck him with a whip. She saw and 
her eyes softened a little, but only a little—and he 
did not see. 

^‘Have you sold out to Bill Black; that’s what I 
want to know?” he asked, as he felt his strength 
ebbing. 

She looked at him a moment, her eyes narrowed. 
To him it seemed hours before he heard her voice 
answering as from a great distance with something 
of sorrow and contrition in it. 

^^He caught up with me before his option expired, 
and he had the money with him, a certified check. 
There was no alternative; I had to keep my bar¬ 
gain.” 

Wayne arose on one elbow, raging mad, his eyes 
blazing. ^^Oh, you—you stupid fool,” he stam¬ 
mered. ^^That land is worth hundreds of millions, 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


294 

perhaps billions. Billions, do you hear? It^s fairly 
peppered with nuggets of free gold, and your claim 
was the only one that held; mine was worthless. 
Now youVe sold out for a pittance. For God’s sake, 
why do you suppose I was racing after you at the 
risk of my life? You cussed little simpleton, couldn’t 
you have held Black off? You’re just like every 
woman, got to go ahead in your own way if it kills 
you. I’m-” 

He could say no more; her reproachful, tear-filled 
eyes, all he could see of her face, seemed to recede 
farther and farther from him with every word he 
uttered until he could no longer see them at all. And 
then he tried to apologize, to frame words that would 
tell her how sorry he was that he had permitted un¬ 
governed anger to get the best of him, to again make 
him play the brute. But it was too late; the dark¬ 
ness had come again, to stay with him, except for 
fitful moments that were half delirium, for many 
hours. 

^Well, at least he’ll keep quiet for a while now,” 
she said, pillowed his head on one of the duffle bags, 
turned to Dubois and added: 

^Tlease bring me Bill Black; I’ll see what I can 
do for him.” 

The eyes of Rouge Dubois that had been watching 



NEMESIS 


295 

Wayne Yeatman anxiously and tenderly, grew sud¬ 
denly hard. 

‘'By damn, ma^amselle, I won’ do her!” he cried. 
“That damn—well, ma’amselle, you know what he 
ees, eef I don’ say her. Hees mos’ dead, perhaps all 
dead, anyway; an’ me, I wouldn’t geeve heem drop 
of water eef one drop she breeng heem back from 
hell; he’s not worth half eet.” 

Cecile’s shoulders straightened; her voice became 
calm and icy. 

“You can bring Black up here or I’ll drag myself 
down there and attend to him. He’s done as much 
against me as he has against you, perhaps more, but 
I wouldn’t permit the worst criminal alive to die 
like that, no matter what he had done to me. I’d 
be as bad as he if I did. I thought you were a man 
before, Rouge Dubois; now I’m beginning to have 
doubts.” 

The moment Rouge Dubois faced that steel gray 
stare he knew he was going to do precisely as she 
ordered, but for the life of him, he couldn’t under¬ 
stand why. 

“Wall, I do her,” he said finally, like a bashful 
schoolboy that had just been threatened with a whip¬ 
ping. “But, by damn, she for you, ma’amselle, not 
for that-” 

Cecile did not catch all of the heart-felt cursing 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


296 

Rouge Dubois gave Bill Black, but she caught 
enough to know that it was volcanic. A wan smile 
filled her eyes as she threw after him: 

^‘Thank you for that precise description of a 
rascal, Rouge Dubois; it^s just the way I’d liked to 
have put it myself if I were not a woman.” 

Dubois looked back with a grin: “Ma’amselle! 
Me, I theenk you the real goods. When you get 
theese two men feex up, I like for shake your han’! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


FOREVER AFTER 

When Wayne Yeatman again awoke to real sen¬ 
sibility, it was to find himself back in the same bed 
at Frosty Blink^s where he had been so ill before, 
and about him solicitously hovered the huge form 
of Rosalie Dubois. 

At first he thought that the whole string of his 
adventures in going to and returning from Big Loon 
Lake must have been only a dream and tried to ask 
Rosalie about it: but she laid gentle fingers on his 
lips and forbade his speaking. 

“M^sieu,” she whispered, ‘^the doctor say you mus’ 
not talk. That shot from Beel Black^s automatic, 
she come very close to the lung, and eef you talk, 
mabbe she break through. Then, m’sieu, I theenk 
she goodnight.’’ 

There were a hundred questions Wayne wanted 
to ask, but he realized that Rosalie’s order must be 
obeyed. 

Finally came a day when he could sit up in bed 

and Rosalie told him he might receive one visitor 

297 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


298 

for ten minutes; not the fraction of a second longer, 
she insisted. The person he most wanted to see 
was Cecile Dennison, but his courage was not yet 
equal to facing her, so he asked Rosalie to find Tom 
Porteous. 

It was a much changed Porteous who finally en¬ 
tered the room. Gone was his breezy effervescent 
manner and the joyous sparkle in his eyes. He 
looked as if he had just quitted the death bed of his 
best friend. 

^‘Great hokum! What ails you?” exclaimed 
Wayne. ‘‘Why this settled melancholy?” 

Porteous slumped into a chair. “Yeatman, I^m 
sorry,” he said. “Rosalie said you wanted to see 
me, but I ought to have framed an excuse and kept 
away. IVe got nothing but bad news.” 

“Well, spill it,” said Wayne. “It’ll be none the 
better for holding back; what is it?” 

“Hampex, that’s all,” answered Porteous lugubri¬ 
ously. 

Wayne stared at him with puzzled eyes. For an 
instant he could not understand. Then: 

“Hampex!” he exclaimed. “What the-” 

“I should think it was what the,” said Porteous. 
“Yeatman, I’ve been a double riveted damn fool. 
Hampex blew the lid off the Curb market more than 
two weeks ago; to be exact, the day after I got 



FOREVER AFTER 


299 

your news of that gold strike. You didn't say, and 
I supposed it was on the Black-Downey property, 
wirelessed New York to that effect. Hampex shot 
to forty-eight; dollars, not cents." 

Wayne had been doing some rapid fire mental 
figuring. 

Great hokum! That means a tremendous profit 
over the price you paid!" he exclaimed. 

^^Meant, not means," corrected Porteous. 

^^My brokers fairly begged me to sell. Like a 
triple plated dumb-bell, I wanted the earth. I held 
out for fifty; the Black-Downey brokers jumped 
into the breach, sold bushels of stock right and left 
and Hampex promptly skidded back to where it 
started from—and that's where you and I are, Yeat- 
man, a couple of poor gwifs who ought to know 
better than try to buck the Black-Downey interests." 

“They must have cleaned up millions," said 
Wayne. 

“Sweet cement! I should think so," answered 
Porteous. “And I was the slack-witted straw man 
who made their market for them." 

Wayne dropped back on his pillow, feeling tre¬ 
mendously depressed. He had lost out with Black, 
he had lost out with Cecile Dennison; and now his 
hope of making something on his Hampex stock was 


300 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


gone. Everything he touched seemed to turn to 
dead-sea fruit. 

^‘What^s become of Blackhe asked. “Did he 
recover from that fight with Rouge Dubois?” 

“Recover!” exclaimed Porteous. “You can^t kill 
one of his breed. TheyVe just passed a final de¬ 
cision against him in the Canadian courts on that 
squatter^s claim to his Big Loon Lake land, and he 
and his Italians will have to get out; but he doesn’t 
appear to be worried any over that. He left for 
Quebec this morning, grinning like a cat that had 
just swallowed a canary. Got some new scheme up 
his sleeve, I suppose.” 

Wayne had a sudden recurring memory. 

“Great hokum, I forgot to tell you!” he ex¬ 
claimed, and, in a few blurting sentences he ex¬ 
plained about Black’s purchase of the Chovard tract 
from Cecile Dennison. 

“That’s the scheme Black has up his sleeve now,” 
said Wayne. “He knew all the time there was some 
gold on the Chovard tract; he found it and shifted 
tlie boundary markers to make it appear that it was 
on his own; but he doesn’t know about my big strike 
of the mother lode. His strike wasn’t anything 
astonishing, but it is enough to warrant his buying 
back Hampex at the bottom and using a fresh gold 
report to skyrocket the price for another big clean- 


FOREVER AFTER 


301 

up. All we need do now is hold on to our Hampex, 
wait for the rise and cash in ourselves. Before we 
made Black’s market; this time he’ll make ours.” 

Wayne was becoming all enthusiasm; but there 
was no reflection of this in the face of Tom Porteous. 

''Sorry, Yeatman,” he said. "But we haven’t any 
Hampex to hold on to. Don’t you understand; 
we’ve been sold out, both of us. I couldn’t put up 
any more margin when the price dropped and the 
brokers had to sell all our stock to protect them¬ 
selves.” 

Porteous had just time to conclude his dejected 
explanation when Rosalie entered. 

"M’sieu,” she said, "you been here fifteen min¬ 
utes; you haf go now.” 

"It’s too blamed bad,” thought Wayne after Por¬ 
teous’ departure. "That rascal Black will make an¬ 
other fortune out of the kid’s land that he got for a 
mere song. I’m beginning to suspect that it doesn’t 
pay to be honest.” 

With that thought Wayne dropped off and slum¬ 
bered for two hours. When he awoke it was evening, 
there was no light in the room and he had a strange 
feeling that some one was standing beside his bed. 
He spoke. 

"Who is it? Is anybody there?” 

"I golly, boy, you’re awake at last, are you? I 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


302 

bin’ waitin’ here most half an hour. Rosalie told me 
I could come in, but I mustn’t speak until you woke 
up. Boy, I got some news for you.” 

Though he could not see him, Wayne recognized 
the squeaky voice of Frosty Blink. 

‘What is it?” he asked. 

“You remember that business of your claim to 
the Chovard tract?” inquired Frosty. 

“Yes, what about it?” 

“I just got back from Quebec today,” replied 
Frosty. “I bin’ lookin’ it up; found out who the 
men were who sat in with Square-deal Jack Merode 
and your grandaddy in that second big all-night 
poker game.” 

“The second game,” repeated Wayne. “I’d for¬ 
gotten there was a second game.” 

“I told you about it,” squeaked Frosty. “The 
first game was between Jack Merode, your gran¬ 
daddy, Rouge Dubois, and a man named Waters; 
—Bill Black warn’t in it. Your grandad lost every¬ 
thing he had to Jack Merode that night, includin’ 
his claim to the Chovard tract and even the coat on 
his back.” 

“Yes, I know that,” said Wayne. “Rouge Dubois 
told me.” 

“The second game, several months later, was at 
Quebec. Your grandad. Jack Merode, a man named 


FOREVER AFTER 


303 


Tom Vance—he^s dead now—and another man, a 
lawyer named Bob Wheeler, sat at the table. 
Wheeler lives in Quebec. I saw him. He said that 
in the second game your grandad evened up that 
cleanin^ Jack Merode guv him in the first game, and 
pulled down eight thousand dollars of Jack Merode’s 
money beside.” 

Wayne gasped; he was just beginning to see the 
tremendous possibilities in Frosty Blink^s news, 
if- 

“But did Grandfather Yeatman win back his claim 
to the Chovard tract in that second game?” he 
whipped out. 

“I golly, he sure did,” answered Frosty. “Wheeler 
drew up the new deed and handed it to your gran- 
daddy himself.” 

“But how did it come that Jack Merode also had 
a deed?” 

“Wheeler told me he guv the old deed back to 
Merode after he’d made out the new one for your 
grandad—Jack said he wanted the old one to frame 
as a souvenir. It was probably found among his 
effects and the widder, not knowin’ about the later 
deed, thought hers was good.” 

Wayne was thunderstruck; it was he, Wayne 
Yeatman, not Bill Black, who owned the enormously 




THE WOMAN TAMER 


304 

rich Chovaxd tract. Black’s claim, that he had 
bought from Cecile Dennison, was valueless. 

He canvassed the situation rapidly. Then: 

^Trosty, you find Tom Porteous as quickly as 
God and your legs will let you and tell him all you’ve 
told me, also tell him that he and Rouge Dubois are 
in on this with me. He’ll know what to do.” 

He waited a moment before adding: ‘Ts Miss 
Dennison still at the fort?” 

‘Was when I came in here,” squeaked Frosty. 
“Sittin’ downstairs in my parlor readin’ one of them 
consarned phisicology books of hern—I peeked in 
one of ’em one day; darndest nonsense!” 

“On your way out,” said Wayne, “please ask Miss 
Dennison to step in here a moment if she will. I’ve 
got to tell her about this deed business and find out 
when hers is dated. I know the date on mine.” 

For many moments Wayne lay in the dark and 
quiet room, waiting. Finally the door opened gently, 
some one entered, went to the table and struck a 
match. As the lamp wick flared up, lighting her 
features with a softly warm glow, he saw that it was 
Cecile Dennison. The sight of her thrilled him to 
his outermost nerve end, but he fought to keep calm, 
sure that she was not for him, to stifle the tremendous 
longing in his heart. 


FOREVER AFTER 


305 

Finally she turned and faced him, leaning with 
her clasped hands behind her against the table. 

‘What did you wish?” 

Her voice was calm and even. He could not see 
her eyes, only her form and her brilliant flame-of- 
gold hair silhouetted against the light from the lamp. 

“Do you mind listening to me a moment?” he 
asked. 

“If you think you can talk without losing your 
temper, I may not mind,” she answered, the merest 
hint of sarcasm in her voice. 

“First, I want to apologize for losing it the last 
time we talked,” he said. “I was so vexed at the 
moment that I spoke wholly without reason or 
thought. And I-” 

“That’s all right,” she interrupted, coming closer, 
standing beside his pillow. “I understand a great 
many things now that I did not then. I had no 
possible idea at the time why you were following us, 
and thought it might be because you had business 
with Bill Black.” 

“No,” he said gravely, “my business was entirely 
with you. I thought then that you owned the Cho- 
vard tract and I wanted to tell you about the gold 
strike there before Black had the chance to take 
up his option.” 

There came a puzzled look in her eyes. “You 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


306 

thought then that I owned the Chovard tract?she 
repeated. “Don’t you still think so?” 

He gave her Frosty Blink’s version of the two 
card games, adding in conclusion: “My deed is dated 
Quebec, September 12, 1897; do you recall the date 
on yours?” 

She dropped into a chair beside the bed, her face 
gone suddenly white as she gasped: “Of course I 
remember; it’s dated at Fort Carillon, December 4, 
1896. Why! why! I never owned the Chovard tract 
at all; that deed wasn’t worth the paper it was writ¬ 
ten on.” 

“Sure wasn’t,” he said. 

She arose. “I must go now,” she said. “I must 
not remain here another moment.” 

“Why not?” he asked a little wistfully. Though 
she was not for him, he could never tire of looking 
at her. 

“Because—don’t you understand? I can’t keep 
Bill Black’s money now. I must stop collection on 
that check; or, if it has been paid, make a refund. 
I never owned the Chovard tract, so how could I 
sell it?” 

“You had a claim, even if it wasn’t a good one,” 
' insisted Wayne. “And nobody knew better than 
Black that that was all you did have, for he tried to 
buy from me before he tried to buy from you. You 


FOREVER AFTER 


307 

played a blamed sight fairer with him than he did 
with you.” 

‘‘Yes, it might be fair with him,” she answered. 
“But would it be fair with myself to take his money, 
even if I needed it, which I don’t? It isn’t what 
you’d do, is it?” 

“Well, no,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “I 
don’t suppose it is.” 

“Then that’s guide enough for me,” she answered. 
“I haven’t always played the game straight in the 
past; I was taught that a woman, because she was a 
woman, would be permitted to cheat a little; that she 
had to cheat a little in order to hold her own against 
her natural antagonist, man. I know better now, 
know there are few finer joys in life than can be 
found in the personal satisfaction of having played 
absolutely square, even though you have lost by do¬ 
ing so. You promised when we started out, to show 
me how to live up here: I have learned that your 
way is also how to live anywhere.” 

“All right. Miss Dennison, I guess you’re got the 
proper slant; but you’re giving me entirely too 
much-” 

She interrupted quickly, her eyes suddenly become 
soft and tender: 

“Please don’t call me Miss Dennison; call me kid. 



THE WOMAN TAMER 


308 

as you always have. You don’t know how I have 
grown to—to like it.” 

He drew a sudden gasping breath. It seemed, for 
a second, as if he had been tossed unexpectedly into 
a topsy-turvy world where nothing was as he had 
supposed it to be. He searched her face, the pent-up 
emotion of months in his hunger filled eyes. She did 
not avoid his gaze, and in the beryl-gray depths of 
her own the warmth and tenderness still abode. 

Impulsively, he had taken both her hands and 
started to draw her toward him when he released 
them quickly. 

^‘No, kid. I’ll not be a fool again,” he said. ‘T’m^ 
sure now that I love you far too much to take any 
chance of making you unhappy.” 

She watched him a moment thoughtfully. Then, 
in a voice that was little more than a whisper; 

‘What do you mean; is it money?” 

“Money!” he exclaimed. “If what Frosty Blink 
has told me is true, and it looks like it is. I’ll dig 
money enough from the Chovard tract to buy you 
Paris and tie a pink satin ribbon around it.” 

He waited a moment before going on, arranging 
his thoughts in order. 

“But there’s something else I haven’t got—in fact, 
there are several somethings. Education is one of 
them. Listen, kid: how would I stack up beside 


FOREVER AFTER 


309 

such hand cultivated chaps as Tom Hallerton and 
the hundred other society bugs you probably know? 
Why, in a room full of that sort of folks, I’d appear 
like something the cat had brought in by mistake. 
I’ve got no manners, and I’ve never associated with 
people who had any to speak of, until I met you.” 

^‘You’ve got something a thousand times better,” 
she asserted with a firm mouth. ‘‘Whole hearted 
manliness and a soul and body that is clean and pure. 
Your manners may not have been sand papered yet, 
you may not know now what fork to use with your 
fish at dinner; but all that can be quickly acquired. 
Your language is crude, but that also will wear off 
with the other crudities—in fact, a big lot of them 
have worn off since I first met you—though, under 
stress of strong emotion they may all come back for 
a moment—as on the day you were shot by Bill 
Black.” 

Her lips hung over his, but they did not meet. A 
vast wonder was in his eyes. 

“But I’m afraid I’ve treated you pretty rough in 
the past; it will be hard, forgetting that.” 

“I should have hated you if you had babied me,” 
she said quickly. “I’d much rather you beat me 
than that—and I think there have been times when I 
deserved to be beaten. Your treatment was pre- 


THE WOMAN TAMER 


310 

cisely what I needed; to be brutally frank and 
vulgar, it put guts into me/^ 

“Then you really think I might possibly—well, 
get by?” he stammered boyishly. 

“If you don’t, it will be my fault,” she an¬ 
swered a little proudly. “You’re going to be made 
over to my order, and I’ll be responsible for the 
product.” 

“Don’t you think it’s rather a large order you’re 
taking?” he asked, the ghost of a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I’m glad to take it,” she answered, “though I 
don’t think it’s going to be at all a large order. Since 
I came up here I’ve learned to despise many small 
and petty things I thought were fine before—to love 
the real, the big two-fisted undertakings, and to 
really live. I’ve sensed the joy there is in carrying 
through against obstacles. I don’t think there is 
much of anything in life could daunt me now: surely 
not this, when I place it against my great love—and 
I do love you, Wayne.” 

“All right, kid, we’ll see,” he said, and drew her 
face down to his. 

Then, after a moment: “But we may scrap.” 

“Of course we will,” she answered quickly. “But 
what of that? So long as it’s an honest give and 
take, I’m not afraid, and, with us, it shall always be 
that. 


FOREVER AFTER 311 

“I^m no longer a spoiled baby. IVe learned to 
stand the whip, as you once called it. The good 
Lord deliver me forever after from a life that has 
been made perpetually smooth and easy to my going 
by somebody else. I want the chance to do some 
of the smoothing myself, and I want the doing to be 
hard work, so that it may be sweet when it is done, 
and may have brought out the best that is in me.’’ 

He chuckled happily. ‘Tf you stack up with me, 
kid, you’ll get that.” 


The End 


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